


The Winds of Spring

by FeniceDiFuoco



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A Song of Ice and Fire References, Alive Starks (ASoIaF), Complete, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Smut, Game of Thrones References, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by A Song of Ice and Fire, Inspired by Game of Thrones, Married Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark, Romance, Slow Burn, The Long Night, War, sanrion - Freeform, slow burn tyrion lannister / sansa stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2020-05-31 15:03:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 76,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19428415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeniceDiFuoco/pseuds/FeniceDiFuoco
Summary: A SansaxTyrion Fanfic: The wars and battles for the Iron Throne have tainted the Westerosi roads with blood. And there are more to come. In the Great city of Meereen, Daenerys returns as queen with a larger Dothraki horde and a new counselor, Tyrion Lannister. Cersei craves to have her power back from beneath the Great Sept of Baelor while Arianne Martell has wicked plans for the crown by making a new ally, Young Griff, most known now as Aegon Targaryen. Within the depths of the Vale, Sansa Stark continues to disguise as Alayne Stone, bastard daughter of Lord Petyr Baelish. But will she take the opportunity to claim her name and land back when it is presented to her? Maybe she will, maybe she will not. Only one thing is for certain: her fate is inevitably linked to the one of a certain dwarf, for they are one flesh, heart and soul. Now and Forever.





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> So, Disclaimer from GRRM's A Song of Ice and Fire. The characters and events that are presented within this work are or have been inspired upon his novels.

The night was certainly dark, yet its terrors were unknown to the eyes of men. The heavy rains denied any use of torch or flame, making the lightings upon the clouds above the only source of light for three travelers to guide themselves from. They were rushing down the Kingsroad to find shelter, their quick footsteps making a song with the roaring thunders of the skies. Though, it was not the type of song Daena used to enjoy. 

She’d rather listen to songs of harps and other strings, played by handsome singers with graceful voices. Songs about chivalry, gallant knights and fair maidens. Songs of dreams and love. This song they were making didn’t resemble anything such that. This was a war song. 

After long hours of ceaseless running, they had finally reached the Inn at the Crossroads. Thanks to the leather coat her cousin Bennard had lend her to cover herself from the rain, Daena’s long chestnut hair wasn’t as damp as the rest. Bennard was the oldest of the three, with about four and twenty years of age. He was the paternal figure she and her older brother Lymond used to follow. The gods had been kind to his features, giving him dashing blue eyes, a sharp jaw and silk black hair, though he acquired his strong muscles with no divine intervention but over hard work throughout his time. Lymond was everything Bennard was not. Skinny, with greasy hair, weak legs and far too short for his age. He didn’t resemble Daena much, making it hard to identify them as siblings. She was a charming young maid of five and ten, with rosy cheeks and round breasts. If it only weren’t for her crooked nose she’d mirror the image of a goddess.

Placing their wet coats on the hangers at the entrance of the inn, the three of them tried their best to clean their clothes and boots up from any drop of rain. Daena noticed the hem of her peasant dress had been ruined with mud from the road and cursed to herself.

“Bennard, is it you?” said a female voice emerging from the nearly empty dining hall. A middle aged woman then appeared in front of them. She was either too fat or her bones were too wide, Daena did not mind, for she was thoroughly captured by her twisted yellow teeth. The woman embraced her cousin into a suffocating hug and then pecked his cheek as if he were only a child. “What business brings you around, my boy?”

“Seven blessings, Masha. I was taking my little cousins on an adventure to find Rhaegar’s rubies along the Trident, but the heavy rains stopped us from travelling any further.”

“We are not little anymore” Lymond muttered crossing his arms and looking off to the distance. Masha, who Daena understood to be the one who runs the inn, ignored his comment keeping her eyes on Bennard.

“It has been quite the storm, hasn’t it?” she said guiding them to sit on a table for four by the window. Daena sat next to her cousin facing her brother. Masha poured some ale to Bennard and herself, and milk for the remaining two. Lymond made sure to show signs of annoyance at not being offered ale. The innkeeper sat with them as she were one more member of the family and continued talking. “Truly, I had never seen the skies raging in such way ever since Queen Daenerys was born”

Bennard grinned at her, sipping from his ale, “Rooting for the Targaryen now, ain’t ya?”

“I’d give my support to anyone but the one who currently sits the Iron Throne. Stannis, Daenerys or even the ghost of the Young Wolf! The situation of the Seven Kingdoms has never been as weak as now. Each day there are less travelers and merchants crossing the roads of Westeros making my Inn near as empty, as never seen before!”

“Seems that not even Lord Tywin’s terror is strong enough to hold the kingdoms together” Lymond commented.

“Lord Tywin?” Masha asked with her brows knit together and shock in her voice “For all the Gods, where have the three of you been? The Old Lion is dead. Killed by his own son while shittin’ gold on his privy. The news might have reached the ears of the Free Cities while I have you baffled here!”

“His own son?” Daena echoed in surprise “The Kingslayer?”

“No. The _Kinslayer_ , rather. The murder was deed of the Imp, right after being sentenced to death for the accusation of having King Joffrey poisoned”.

“King Joffrey is dead?” Bennard asked “That must mean now-”

“A child rules us all, yes” Masha said in a low voice, finishing the last of ale from her cup. “The Boy King. Tommen Baratheon. Or so they say his second name is. The great Lord of the Seven Kingdoms who plays with his toys on that damned chair of swords while half the Kingdom starves to the bone”

“But if both Lords Tywin and Tyrion are dead… Is House Lannister no more?” Daena asked with genuine worry. The stories about the Lords of the Rock had always been her favorite. Their golden hair and dashing looks and infinite wealth made every fiber of her body burn with lust and envy.

“Oh, the half-man is very much alive, my dear” Masha said staring into her eyes “Somewhere, across the Narrow Sea, where only the Seven may see him. But he holds no opportunity on restoring the line of lions. He is now cursed, for he has slaughtered one of his kin. But don’t you trouble yourself, little one. The Lannisters are far from gone. There’s still Lord Kevan and Queen Cersei, though from what I gather, one has no heirs and the other is locked up in a cell under the Great Sept of Baelor”

“But what is the Imp’s curse?” Lymond asked, now more intrigued in the story on stake.

“You may never know one’s curse for certain,” Bennard replied “but it is rumored that kinslayers are doomed to a life of darkness and tormenting thoughts. Demons are said to appear in their minds making them turn into monsters”.

“Yes indeed, but any curse can be broken.” Daena spoke up “It is known. I’ve heard and read many stories about the curses of a kinslayer. Only the warmth of a loved one is capable of making the monster human again”.

“Since when d’ya know how to read?” Lymond said and rolled his eyes “Oh wait, I remember. Since ever you began pretending you are some highborn lady”. 

“Anyhow,” Bennard said giving a warning look at Lymond and turned back to Daena “who would ever love the dwarf if not for his coin?”

“Why, his Lady Wife of course! She’s the only hope he has. They were united under the Faith of the Seven, the bond is strong”.

Masha chuckled making Daena shiver at the sight of her eccentric teeth. “Sansa Stark? She is lost to the eyes of men. Either the girl died or is living in hiding as someone else, if she has any wits. The crown has a price on her head too. One way or the other, the Last Wolf is nowhere near her little husband, from what I’ve heard”.

“That doesn’t mean she won’t ever return to him. Whether they like it or not, they are part of each other now. She will save him from his fate, I know she will” Daena replied, her voice almost a cry.

Bennard smiled at her sadly. “You are reading far too many songs and poems, dear cousin. Life is neither of them. Besides, you should not busy yourself thinking about the marriage and welfare of others but yours”. 

Later, Masha brought the three travelers a proper meal to dine and left them for the night. The conversation had taken away Daena’s appetite. Playing with her food, she gazed upon the droplets of rain which fell like tears down on the window next to her. Her mind lost in thoughts about an Imp and his maid red as autumn, with sunset in her hair. She refused to believe such fatal ending would seal their fates. No. Even her songs had taught her love can grow from eroded lands. _And not all my stories can be lies,_ she thought. Her heart determined, clinging on a vague hope for two strangers, whose paths she shall never cross.


	2. ALAYNE I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, parts of this chapter are extracts from GRRM's sample Alayne chapter from TWOW so Disclaimer!

The first snows were falling upon the Vale of Arryn. The rocky landscapes and dry shrubs of the kingdom were being slowly veiled under a white sheet of shimmering flakes, making traveling around the Eyrie more difficult than it regularly was. The nights grew colder by each half turn of a moon and it was impossible to sleep anywhere if not next to a fireplace. Icicles formed up along every rooftop, window and wall and blizzards occured more often by each setting of the sun.  _ Winter has come _ , Alayne thought. But the words were not meant to have a meaning to her, for she was a bastard now. The Starks were gone.

By day, she was chained to a silver necklace which held the emblem of a mockingbird right in the middle of her chest. By night, she was shackled to never-ending nightmares about dark memories and haunting demons of the past. Some nights, on very rare occasions, the gods were good and gave her peaceful dreams. Dreams about the person she no longer was. Dreams of a Godswood, Winterfell and a family of seven. The embrace of a father, the love of a mother and the company of her siblings. She had dreamt of her husband as well. Of their wedding night and of his never before appreciated kindness. If only she could leap back in time to grasp tighter on everything she once had she might have never lost it.

_ But you can’t. You are not her anymore. You are Alayne Stone now,  _ she thought to herself while dyeing the roots of her hair black once more.  _ Best you remember that if you want to survive.  _

The tourney for Sweetrobin she had managed Littlefinger to make was coming near and she had to attempt her best to look as beautiful as a noble lady to charm the guests. It surprised her how easily she had handled to convince Petyr on carrying her idea on. She was surely picking up his traits and strategies. Although she should feel proud about her accomplishment, fear ran through her veins as she could not stand to resemble the image of someone as mischievous as him.

Harry the Heir had been even easier to manipulate. The young man she was meant to be betrothed to fell without challenge into her gracious words and actions. He had asked for her favor on the tourney, but she denied it excusing she was already promising it to someone else. She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone. Harry was, with no doubt, a very comely man. His blonde sandy hair fell as a wave on his forehead, dimples were formed on his face every time he smiled, lighting up his blue eyes.  _ But Joffrey was comely too, _ she thought.  _ A comely monster, that’s what he was. Little Lord Tyrion was kinder, twisted though he was. _ But she pushed her thoughts away, for those people belonged to her former life. They belonged to Sansa. If she was to be Alayne at mind she had to lock the wolf at heart. Somehow forgetting that wolves can never be tamed.

Sweetrobin was a troublesome task. Because Alayne was of the few people the child Lord would trust to have around him, he had grown particularly attached to her. Requiring her presence and aid more often than usual, he had teared down whatever little freedom the girl had left.

“I don’t want you to marry Ser Harrold, Alayne.” She recalled Lord Robert saying “He calls me cousin, but he’s just waiting for me to die so he can take the Eyrie. He thinks I don’t know, but I do.” 

“Your lordship should not believe such nonsense,” Alayne had replied “I’m sure Ser Harrold loves you well”

“He doesn’t” he insisted “You should marry me instead. We could sleep in the same bed every night, and you could read me stories.”

_ No man can wed me so long as my dwarf husband still lives somewhere in this world,  _ she thought back then. Queen Cersei had collected the head of a dozen dwarfs, Petyr claimed, but none were Tyrion’s. A sudden wave of relief breathed from the depths of her lungs.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door to her chambers. Voicing her permission of entrance, one of her handmaidens stepped into the room bowing her head slightly. 

“Pardon me, m’lady. Your Lord Father has requested your presence to his solar. He says he needs a word with you. Should I escort you there?”

Alayne stepped from the vanity finishing with her hair and made her way towards the door. “Don’t trouble yourself, Wylla.” she told her handmaid “I shall go alone. In the meanwhile, you may clean my room”

She had barely stepped out from her chambers before someone rushed onto her enlacing her arm around hers. Myranda. She was wearing a grey woolen dress, a green hooded cloak, and a rather desperate look.

“Well hello, my Lady Stone” Myranda said as both women stepped down the stairs into the main hall of the fortress they were staying on Giant’s Lance for the tourney. “How have you been faring?”

“Morning, Lady Royce. I am feeling very well, praise the Seven”

“It’s Randa” Myranda replied squeezing Alayne’s arm a little too hard. She turned to her giving a smile on her lips yet a threat in her eyes “How many times must I tell you to call me that, my dear Alayne. We are friends, you and I. We must trust each other”

_ I have been given no reason to trust you.  _ “I’m sorry,  _ Randa _ ” 

“You see? It is not so very hard to say. But enough about me! Pray, how is my Harry? I noticed you denied him your favor in tourney. Poor lad. I shall never forgive you for stealing him away from me. He’s the boy I want to marry.”

“The betrothal was my father’s doing,” Alayne protested, as she had a hundred times before.  _ She is only teasing _ , she told herself… but behind the japes, she could hear the hurt.

Myranda accompanied her until they reached the entrance to Lord Baelish’s solar. She greeted her farewells to Alayne with mocking bow of her head and retreated. Stepping into the dim room, Alayne spotted Petyr writing some letters on his desk. Once he heard her footsteps, he immediately rose to his feet and embraced her.

“My sweet Alayne, I trust you have been well. Come, give your father a kiss.  _ A proper kiss _ .”

Without much warning, he placed his lips upon hers. He had been doing so far too many times lately to Alayne’s pleasure. She ought to be grateful for everything he had done for her, but if truth be told, he scared her terribly. Ever since her Aunt Lysa fell from the Moon Door, Littlefinger had grown bold with her. Placing one hand under her jaw and the other travelling down her spine, he deepened the kiss in an ardent passionate way, as he had never done before. She could sense his hunger, but she had no food to give. Placing a hand on his chest, she softly pushed him away, backing from the kiss. The displeasure of her action was written on his face as words on a book, but he bit it all back with a resentful smile and a squeeze on her shoulder.

“Darling daughter, I summoned you here to give you a gift for how clever you have been. Your idea has filled the Eyrie with knights from the entire Vale of Arryn, allowing me to win the trust of their lords with your wits.” he rubbed his thumb over her cheek and lingered his stare into hers for a long while, his lips pursed holding back a lick. Alayne shivered, too slightly for him to notice. 

He turned and bent underneath his desk to take out a brownish gown from a chest. He placed it in front of her with a large grin. She ran her fingers through the fabric, remembering the soft touch of fine silk she had long forgotten. Embroidered throughout the length of the dress were designs of flying mockingbirds, the needlework was exceptional, She couldn’t help but wonder the cost of such fine piece. She was meant to be enchanted by it, but it only deepened her sorrow, for the gown showed no trouts and no wolves on display. No red, no blue, no grey. But she remembered herself with a shake of thoughts from her head, the dress was meant for her mind, not her heart.

She forced herself to give him a bright smile, “Thank you Father, you should not have troubled yourself to find such exquisite present for me. I shall wear it at the feast for the tourney.”

“So I hoped you’d do, my sweetling,” he said grinning, “and mind you, I would trouble myself to death just for you”

_ No. Not for me. For my claim _

The sun had nearly set when she reached back to her chambers. Opening the window, she stared at the vast horizon of the rocky Vale in complete admiration at how the snowflakes glowed like stars as they merged with the rays of the sun. Standing closer to the edge of the wall, she leaned her head out the window and smiled at the feeling of the flakes caressing her pale skin. She had never felt so genuinely happy as now ever since her father… since Lord Eddard Stark was executed. She shut the window and the memories of a long past closed and changed into her nightshift.

That night, the gods were kind and gave her gentle dreams. Two mismatched eyes staring deep into her, begging for entrance to her soul. She noticed the glow on his pupils when they fell upon her. Had they glowed like that when she was with him or was it just her head playing games with her? She could not determined. Nor did she care. She was lost in his glance. _If only you’d come back to me, come back to remind me who I am. I could… I could be kind to you. Just like you once were with me._ She drifted into another dream, unaware that it was her who would one day return to him.


	3. TYRION I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of this chapter is an extract from Tyrion's meeting with Daenerys from HBO's GoT season 5 episode 8 so Disclaimer! Also the chapter is based on GRRM's sample Tyrion chapter from TWOW

_ Chaos _ . Chaos has been his closest friend ever since he had left King’s Landing, with blood stained on his hands. The one who helped pull chains of gold and crossbow bolts. A shadow walking by his side throughout his entire journey like the truest of friends. His sole company on this foreign lands. His presence in the darkest of nights and thoughts of mind. A gaping pit, swallowing him whole in what seems like a warm embrace. So of course it would be Chaos the one to receive and welcome Tyrion Lannister to the Great City of Meereen.

He needed a flagon of wine. Or two. Instead of having a cup on his hand, there was a battle axe. His weapon of choice ever since the Battle of the Greenfork. He remembers his first battle with even greater detail than the one of Blackwater Bay. Regardless, he recalls immensely well the feeling that both battles had caused within him. The same feeling that was now surging up from the depths of his chest running like wildfire through his veins.  _ Fear. _ And upon the acknowledgement of that fear, Tyrion realized he no longer wanted to greet death just yet.

The skies had turned red by the dance of fire and smoke mingling through the air. Two almost full grown dragons were sweeping their wings and roaring deafeningly at their enemies. A roar unlike a lion’s, for these came with breaths of flame. Below them, the clash of metal swords, the pierce of armor and the agonizing screams of men filled the land with a song and tainted it with red water. Water from which plants can not grow. On the sea, there was a different tune. Wooden boats and ships crashing into one another and cracking underneath arduous fires, their captains sinking with them into the raging waves of Slaver’s Bay. Amidst this turmoil, a half-man was struggling to move swiftly with his short bunted legs and heavy battle clothes.

Penny had been the one to help him in his armor. And doing so, stole a kiss from Tyrion. The anger was too palpable within his eyes for her to avoid notice.

“Has my kiss displeased you, my Lord?”

_ Oh, if only I had a weapon on my hands, if I had my crossbow I’d prove you how much  _ he had thought. He might have used his own fists, but the cries of war were calling him upon the battlefield. 

With the help of Ser Jorah Mormont, they had convinced the Second Sons to fight the Long Lances and defend their attempt to siege Meereen once more. Although the sellswords had exceptional skills in battle, the Lances were no easy enemies to defeat. The dragons, of course, were of great help. Yet they weren’t enough.

Lost in thoughts, Tyrion almost lost what was left of his face by an unnoticed sword being swung at his direction. Mormont intercepted and stabbed the yunkaii mercenary through the middle of his chest. 

“Careful, dwarf.” Jorah said “Keep wielding your axe in such way and you may never get to meet Khaleesi.”

_ If only I had your height and the strength of the Mountain  _ Tyrion thought bitterly to himself.

Blood being shed into his hands and face made the field turn into a foggy drizzle within his eyes. Soldiers swifted slowly past him as shadows from a lost memory. Hereafter, the events of the battle grew harder to recall. Screams of misery rumbled up his eardrums as allies and foes fell into the ground with life no more. Chaos. His beloved friend, threatening to take control of him yet again. But he was interrupted by the blowing of ship horns.

Out of the black mist the smoke had created along the sea, an entire fleet arose to the visibility of men’s eyes. A navy with the biggest and greatest ships Tyrion had ever seen in his five and twenty years of age. The main sail of every each one of the ships were black with a sigil in the middle. A golden kraken. House Greyjoy had arrived. From the far distance, Tyrion spotted the man leading the armada. If he had to guess by the stories he had heard about a robust ironman with long black hair, that captain was no other but Victarion Greyjoy.

The iron fleet swept and striked the Yunkaii’s hard and true, gaining victory at the bay. On the land, a sudden horde of dothraki forces appeared, winning ground by each swing of their  crescent moon-shaped swords. And the light from the skies was covered by the shade of an enormous black dragon with red scales, a Targaryen girl riding on its back. The Long Lances’ forces were at their weakest and on the verge of losing the battle. Tyrion never got to see the end of it as he was knocked into unconsciousness by an object he could not identify.

Darkness veiled over his sight as his body hit the floor, but he never felt the fall. His mind and soul had floated somewhere else from his body. An unknown place, where everything was nothing but blur. A shadow then appeared… No. Not a shadow. A woman. He could hear her sighs, the unmistakable breathings of a girl.

_ Tysha? _ he thought for a while. But it couldn’t have been her, for this woman had long auburn hair and icy blue eyes.  _ Those eyes… I know those eyes. _ Yet one thing was different about them. For the first time, her gaze offered nothing but kindness.

“Tyrion” he heard her say softly, his name a song being whispered from her lips.  _ Sansa Stark. _ “Tyrion” she said again, her image turning into dust.

“Tyrion” he heard a third time, only now the voice came from a man. A big hairy hand shaking his shoulder. Flashing his eyes open, Jorah Mormont took shape from the sudden blinding blurry light of a foreign room. Waves of pain from the forgotten battle wounds began to shock Tyrion all at once. His head ringing against his ears and the strong beating of his heart making his blood pump heavily.  _ At least I did not lose the other half of my nose this time. _

Jorah wore wounds of his own, though his were far fewer and already seemed to have been fully attended to. The bed Tyrion was laying on was larger than any other he'd ever been given. Even though it was the most comfortable thing he had slept on ever since escaping the Red Keep, the mattress had sunken deep around his small shape.

“Mormont” he managed to mumble glancing about the room “How long have I passed out?”

“Three days,” Jorah said in his usual raspy tone of voice “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever wake again”

Tyrion made a clicking sound with his tongue “Oh, I  _ always  _ wake again.” he said intending the words to sound as a jape, but the look in his eyes gave away his hurt. “Where is Penny?”

Ser Jorah’s eyes drifted with sadness down to his hands, his head giving a slight shake. A pang of genuine guilt stroke Tyrion across his chest. She was too young, too innocent to have already fallen into the claws of the world’s cruelty. She had a whole life ahead of her, and it was stripped away from her hands. He had been more cruel than he intended to be last time he spoke with her.  _ That’s what monsters are, dwarf. Cruel. _ Yet deep down beneath his darkness, he felt it should have been him in her position.

With worrisome eyes, Mormont stared at Tyrion, his breath almost a shiver. “Tyrion, the Queen has commanded our presence immediately after you’d awake”

The Audience Chamber within the Great Pyramid of Meereen was of the most astonishing halls Tyrion had ever set foot upon. It lacked the intimidation of the Throne Room, but of course, nothing in this life could ever shame the fearful steps of swords that made up the Iron Throne. On the Very middle of the chamber were marble steps that led all the way up to a beautiful young woman, with silvery blonde hair and bright purple eyes. Daenerys Targaryen.  _ Magnificent, _ he thought  _ Yet another monarch to bow my head to.  _ Besides her, to the right, was an aged knight. Tyrion almost missed his recognition due to the large beard he has grown, but there was no doubt he was Ser Barristan the Bold. Next to her left were a fine-looking young man uniformed in the colors of the Second Sons and a tanned woman with curly black hair. The latter broke the silence.

“You stand before Queen Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lady Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons”

Tyrion noticed Ser Jorah bowing his head at the mention of the exaggerated amount of titles. He did not intend to imitate Mormont’s actions, standing as tall as his stature gave him right to, never leaving his gaze from the Queen’s.

“How do I know you are who you claim to be?” Daenerys asked with a harsh tone intended to intimidate, but Tyrion was not one to be scared of words alone.

“If only I were otherwise.” he replied indifferently. 

“If you are Tyrion Lannister, why shouldn’t I kill you? To pay your family back for what they did to mine”

“You want revenge my House?” Tyrion asked bitterly “I killed my mother, Joanna Lannister, on the day I was born. I killed my father, Tywin Lannister with a bolt to the heart. Or were there two? I am accused of murdering Joffrey Baratheon, son of Cersei Lannister. And if I would have been given the opportunity to, my sister would be dead as well. I am the greatest Lannister assassin of our time.”

“So I should welcome you into my service because you have murdered members of your own family” she replied narrowing her eyes. “They say a  _ kinslayer  _ lives with nothing but a curse”

“People say many things, Your Grace.” he smiled mischievously “But did I hear you true? Welcome me into your service? Why, we only have just met! It is too soon for me to determine if you deserve my service.”

Daenerys hid her surprise behind her regal mask “If you’d rather bath in dragonfire, just say the word.”

Tyrion stared into her eyes, reading her face. Knowing just how to treat this new Queen, he proceeded to talk once more.  “When I was a young man I heard a story about a baby born during the worst storm in living memory. She had no wealth, no lands, no army, only a name and a handful of supporters, most of whom probably thought they could use that name to benefit themselves. They kept her alive, moving her from place to place, often hours ahead of the men who had been sent to kill her. She was eventually sold off to some warlord on the edge of the world and that appeared to be that. And then a few years later the most well informed person I knew told me that this girl without wealth, lands, or armies had somehow acquired all three in a very short span of time, along with three dragons. He thought she was our best, last chance to build a better world. I thought you were worth meeting  _ at the very least _ .”

“And why should I listen to you?” She answered defiantly, though she seemed moved by his words

“No one can build a better world on their own” he said plainly, a flash of deadly seriousness passing through his mismatched eyes. “None of your advisors understands the land you want to rule. Not truly. Not like I do.”

“No, but I have a very large army and my dragons are getting larger by the day.”

He grinned at her “Following by heart the footsteps of your father? Killing and politics are not the same thing. I served as Hand of the King and did a remarkable job as far as I recall. I intend to do even better by advising a ruler worth the name.  _ If  _ that is indeed what you are.”

“Very well,” She said with cold eyes motioning to where Jorah stood “If you want to advise me, what would you have me do with him?” 

Tyrion glanced softly at Ser Jorah and turned back to Daenerys  “Whomever Ser Jorah was when he started informing on you, he is no longer that man. I can't remember ever seeing a sane man as devoted to anything as he is to serving you. He claims he would kill for you and die for you, and nothing I have witnessed gives me reason to doubt him...he worships you. He is in love with you, I think. There is no better ruler than one who wields mercy at her hand. Give the man one last opportunity to prove himself true. Place him at the lowest rank of your service, if you must, but don’t let him far from your side, for you may never know when you might need someone guarding your back”

The answer had surprisingly pleased the Mother of Dragons. Tyrion was excused from the hall while Mormont was asked to remain. An Unsullied guard escorted him to his new chambers within the Pyramid, where he found a flagon of wine and a wide bed waiting for him. He served himself a cup and gulped the liquid fast down his dry throat. It lacked the flavor of a Dornish wine, but it managed to do the trick for now.

Throwing himself upon the bed, Tyrion starred thoughtfully at the canopy. He would be going to sail back to Westeros more sooner than later and he could not understand why his chest rose up high at the thought of returning to a certain maid.  _ Where are you as of right now? Have you erased my twisted form from your mind? Or could it be…  _ but sleep claimed him before any further thought could cross his head.


	4. ALAYNE II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I own nothing of ASoIaF  
> WARNING: This chapter contains a scene where a character is molested

Morning was greeted by a blazing red sun, which colored the skies above the Vale with a shade of rosy pink. The heavy snows and blizzards had prevented sunrays to bath the fields of men for the past few days. It was priceless to now have the sun back upon the Lands of Arryn, lifting the spirits of every lord, lady and child gathered in a fortress on Giant’s Lance. The day of the Tourney Feast had arrived, and every handmaid and servant were rushing through the halls, up and down the stairs, making the necessary arrangements to make the place worthy to the reunion of valiant winged knights and highborn men. 

Alayne was also helping along the others, assuring that the decorations were meritable and in place. She was a graceful presence, an inspiration to anyone who saw her working. As daughter of the Lord Protector of the Vale, she had to set the example, and ensured to not let down the expectations of the court about her. With lushness, she swept through the corridors placing and organizing adornments. She also visited the kitchens to oversee the cooks’ work and additionally ordered for the remaining lemons they had to be baked into cakes. Because Sansa was fond of them, it did not mean she couldn’t be too.

Petyr came into the main hall of the fortress during the afternoon to inspect his daughter’s deeds. Wearing a large smile on his face, he approached Alayne kissing her cheek and placing a hand on her waist, careless of any eye that could fall upon them.

“My sweet daughter,” he said, “you have the same talent and spirit as your mother. With my wits and her beauty ,you are implacable.”

Lord Baelish certainly acquired the attention of many ears from the servants present in the room with his statement. None of them had the slightest idea of which woman he was referring to and all of them were curiously eager to find out who had mothered the bastard of The Eyrie. But Alayne knew. She knew all too well that he was talking about Lady Catelyn Stark and that she was nothing but a fantasy of his own, for she was and never would be his.

“Thank you father,” she said remembering herself, “I hope you are pleased with the arrangements I have planned. If they are not to your liking I still am on time for a reorganization”

“Nonsense! They are as astonishing as yourself.” he replied enlacing his arm around hers and guided her to walk to his will “As you might know, my darling, Ser Harrold is coming to the feast tonight. Tell me, how are you handling our key to the Vale? Has he been any trouble to you?”

“No, father. I think he is quite… captivated with me. He acts just as you said he would when he is around me. He is no trouble, in fact he is rather easy to handle” she added with a drop of shyness.

“I would expect nothing less of you,” he replied grinning. Alayne found herself in his solar now. She turned to see him oddly closing the door and a shiver traveled down her spine. He began to approach her with slow paces and she instinctively paced backwards until she stumbled against his desk, preventing her to step away any further. He captured her jawline with his hand and caressed her cheek with her thumb. “You would never disappoint me, wouldn’t you my dearest?”

Her breath hitched and her body shivered as if she were out in the cold with no furs. She tried to mumble up some words, but before any could come up her throat, Littlefinger drove his lips down to hers. He was holding her too tightly it almost hurt, driving her body closer to his. Alayne closed her eyes fiercely and pursed her lips tightly, trying to deny him entrance. But he found his way, as he always did. She stiffened as he whispered phrases such as “you are mine” or “how womanly you have become” between kisses. He had reached a tipping point when he tentatively took a hand under her skirts and placed it on her lap. Fear took the best of Alayne, and tears threatened to dwell on the corners of her eyes. But Sansa was one to cry, that frightened little girl. Not her, she was strong and brave bastard-born. 

She pushed him away with all her might, rushed towards the door and with quick heavy breaths excused herself, “The sun is near to set, father. It… It would be best for me to begin preparing at once for the feast.” Without another word, she exited the room before she could hear his reply. He will be so angry at her, but she would avoid his wrath just for now.

_ To think that I’d be free from torture once Joffrey died was foolish of me,  _ she thought,  _ my captors will always try to hunt me. But a direwolf is not easy to kill. If only I had my pack, or even only a little lion beside me, I would be able to fight my freedom back. _

Once in her chambers, she asked her handmaidens to prepare her a hot bath. She scrubbed the dirt off her skin with trembling fingers, the bath’s vapor and recent encounter with Petyr making her head wobbly. She then proceeded to dress in her mockingbird dress, the one he had given her, with the vague hope it might soothe his temper. Combing her hair in a braided northern style half-knot, she entered the hall of the feast.

The room was illuminated by marvelous chandeliers, which lightened the sky-blue banners of House Arryn that hung from each wall, in such way it gave the place a bewildering regal expression. The hall was filled with talkative lords and ladies from the Vale’s nobility. Most of them were people of grown age, their silver hairs glowing by the light. But there were some few fresh young faces, like Myranda’s and the ones of the young knights who were always arduously following her. Of course, there was Sweetrobin too, but his face resembled more the one of a babe. 

The singers and musicians began playing their tunes, encouraging the guests to step towards the center of the room to initiate the dance. Harry the Heir lost no time in approaching Alayne, offering her his hand. The young man looked immensely dashing, his sandy hair brushed back and his clothes mirroring the ones of a prince. But she was a fool to poems and tales of love no longer, the boy gave her an alarming amount of distrust. Be it as it may, she was too lost in thoughts to mind Harry much. The memory of Littlefinger was still with her. The fear and shiverness had not left her body yet.

“Is anything amiss, my lady?” he asked with a worried look in his eyes.

_ I am not  _ your  _ lady yet,  _ she thought,  _ I am another’s.  _ “No, Ser.” she answered simply, staring at the distance avoiding his stare. “Only… too much dancing has made my head grow dizzy. Perhaps a glass of water could help me?”

“As my lady commands.” he replied, concern remaining in his tone.

The evening passed quickly by with dancers sweeping through the floors and wine filling everyone’s bellies. It had been quite some time since she experienced such kind of celebration, but despite herself, she could not rejoice in it. During the past months, she had been feeling a void forming up against her chest. A perplexing emptiness. As if she had just now realized she was at loss of something, yet she could not determine of what… of whom.

When dinner was served, the guests retreated to their seats. On the middle of the dais sat Littlefinger. Thankfully, by each of his sides were Lord Royce and Sweetrobin. The poor boy had been feeling very sick, which is why Alayne had asked Mya Stone to stay beside him. Myranda was next to her father and between both ladies sat Ser Harrold. For the first time, she was grateful of Myranda’s presence for she could let her handle Harry for her. While everyone dined, Alayne was the only soul that remained silent. Everyone seemed captivated in countless stories and conversations, but she could barely touch her food.

Suddenly, the gates of the hall opened in an abrupt manner. A tall, lean man entered with a party of soldiers behind his back. His face was craggy and his features lined and weathered. The years had fell upon his hair turning it silver grey, his brows were bushy and his eyes deep blue. Littlefinger rose immediately to his feet.

“Ser Brynden Tully,” he said smiling mischievously, “to what does the Vale owe the pleasure of your presence?”

“Petyr Baelish,” the Blackfish replied with a hoarse, smoky voice “I see that what has been spoken about my niece, Lysa, seems to be true.”

“Ah, my poor late Lady Wife.” Petyr said with an exaggerated tone “It is now up to me to carry on her good will by ruling the Eyrie for her, until her son comes of age.”

“So you say you are doing.” Tully answered lifting an eyebrow, “But it makes no matter now. Apologies for interrupting your feast, Lord Baelish, but I require urgent aid from you. The seat of House Tully, Riverrun, has been stolen from our hands by the Lannisters. The Riverlands are in peril and weak in forces. If you are truly dear to your late wife, prove yourself by supporting us with Arryn forces.”

Every lord’s attention was focused solely on Littlefinger. Her mother’s uncle had been smart enough to face the Mockingbird while he was surrounded by the Lords of the Vale. They were still devoted to Lysa, leaving Petyr with little choice.

“Matters of big concern are better dealt in smaller rooms.” Littlefinger said and turned his focus to the guests, “I am terribly sorry, my lords and ladies, but the feast is dismissed. I have some arrangements to make with the Blackfish. Now, if you would excuse me.”

Petyr retreated from the hall followed by Brynden and his men. One member of the group caught Alayne’s eye. The robust man was wearing a woolen black hood over his head, yet she saw a glimpse of a burned ruin of scars over the left side of his face. She’d recognize that face anywhere. He glanced back at her and his eyes widened. Not only had he seen her, he  _ recognized her _ .

Seizing the opportunity when all the guests of the hall were making their leave, she excused herself and walked towards a desolate corridor, hoping he would follow. And he did. He grabbed her by the wrist harshly and pulled down his hood. She stared into his angry eyes, unmoved.

“So the little bird is still alive?” He asked rhetorically with a raspy voice, “What in the seven hells is she doing singing in the Vale? You think dyeing your feathers black would make a difference?” 

She felt him tightening his grip, yet she remained calm, with ice in her eyes “I know of little birds and songs no longer. And if anything, what are you doing fighting by my uncle’s side?”

“I fight for no one’s side but my own.” The Hound spat “Your bitch sister left me to die. If it weren’t for the Blackfish’s men who found me, I would have met the Stranger already.”

Her mask fell upon the mention of her sister, finally taking her aback with surprise. “Arya is alive?”

“As far as I know.” he said with a breath that carried the strong smell of ale. They heard footsteps approaching. “Enough talk for now, little bird. The night after tomorrow, right outside this damned fortress in the Forest of the Moon, make sure to be there.”

  
He left her as quick as he came, with her breath caught in her throat and glassy eyes.  _ A door of escape might be opening for me. Will I find you there once I cross it?,  _ she thought unsure as to whom she was asking such wish.


	5. TYRION II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im still not GRRM I own nothing.   
> The conversation between Dany and Tyrion at the end of this chapter is inspired by their scene in HBO's GoT 6x10

Ever since he was a child, back in Casterly Rock, everyone had treated Tyrion Lannister with undeserving manner, shaming any land he set foot upon. He was disgraced, hated and blamed by high and lowborns alike; even by his own family. For a brief moment, he had thought there was no place he could ever belong to without being followed by humiliation. Then, he was welcomed to the world of politics, given positions where he was not asked to wield a sword but carry books and strike pens. A world where he was given the opportunity to prove he was more than a malformed creature, that his wits counted for something. Where he was granted with a seat of power. Not a throne, iron was too cold for the Imp’s likes, but a chair in small councils where he could work as the mind behind the crown. A chair that made him feel taller than any man alive.

To return to such role after so long had Tyrion feeling his small spirit overjoying. There was too much darkness in him to smile again just yet, but at least a bright smirk was marked on his scarred face. He still had to gain Queen Daenerys’ full trust, but at least he had acquired a large part of it by telling her everything he knew about Young Griff. The boy who currently sets sail under the name of Aegon VI Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne. He intended to win the rest of her trust in this meeting ,with the war strategy he had devised.

Within the council room, there was a wide quadratic table on the center made of marble. Above it, a large parchment with a delicate drawing of the map of Westeros. Though the material was tainted with yellow spots that gave away the ancestry of the paper, the colors of the paint remained bright, highlighting the seats of each region from the Seven Kingdoms. Around the table were gathered the Mother of Dragons’ closest advisors: Her translator Missandei of Naath, the Commander of the Unsullied Grey Worm, Daario Naharis, Ser Barristan Selmy and a spot waiting for Tyrion to fill. Ser Jorah Mormont was present too, though he was found quite far away from the rest, as if he was not yet to be completely trusted.

“Tyrion Lannister,” the Queen announced, “you are late.”

“Apologies for keeping Your Grace waiting,” Tyrion said “Though I was blessed with an exceptional mind I cannot say the same about my body, for my short legs make it hard for me to travel fast.”

He could have sworn that he saw her lips curling up and her lilac eyes shine, but it happened too fast for him to determine for true. “Very well, now that you are finally here I hope you do understand the importance of this meeting. I have proven myself to be worthy of your service, now I expect you to do the same thing in return. What is your plan?”

Stepping on a stool, he leaned towards the map arranging the army tokens to his will. “Using the large fleet Victarion Greyjoy left in our hands, we shall set sail to Westeros. It is a shame the captain of the armada had to fall in battle during the siege of this city, but we still may count with the support of his brother Euron. With his help, we might even build a larger navy once we land. Speaking of landing, since Stannis has left it deserted, I find the best location for it to take place to be Dragonstone. Eager to return to the place you were born, Your Grace?” he grinned at Daenerys “We shall settle on the ancient seat of the Targaryens reinforcing our armies.

“While we are busy at it, a small party of us shall travel to the Eyrie to negotiate a new alliance. The lords of the Vale have been long enemies of the crown ever since the death Jon Arryn. Or murder, I should say. By gaining their forces, we should dare to travel south and conquer the Stormlands, who are currently without a leader. Only then, if we are successful, we shall determine whether to move further south to claim Dorne. But the region is a treacherous place. Before that we must deal with Stannis Baratheon, who I hear is currently intending to take the North. By defeating him, we win the largest piece of land from the Seven Kingdoms to our favor. Finally, we take our key. Highgarden, seat of the Reach. Cutting the Crown’s main supplier of food, we will leave King Tommen with only one decision. Knowing who my nephew is and that my sister is no longer pulling his strings, he will yield the Red Keep. Hence, Your Grace, the Iron Throne becomes yours at last.”

Daenerys looked almost satisfied with his strategy, without a doubt it was a remarkable one, yet she still held one doubt, “And what about the Westerlands? What about Casterly Rock, the seat of House Lannister, the seat of your family?”

“The Lannisters have always thought of me bitterly,” he said, both his green eye and black one glowing, “they think I want revenge from them, which is true, but they also think me a fool. They will anticipate I’d go for the Rock first, once they find out I am advising you of course. It would be perfectly absurd to fall into such easy bait.” he paused looking around the gathered advisors “Do you support my plan now?”

The only opinion the Queen and Tyrion minded was Ser Barristan’s and Ser Jorah’s, for they were the only ones in the room who understood the Seven Kingdoms. After both knights nodded their heads in agreement, Daenerys let Tyrion know of her approval with a wide smile.

Days came and went quickly in the city of Meereen. Tyrion busied himself up to extreme tiredness by organizing one of the greatest cities of Essos and attending to its issues. A vast amount of problems were resolved by his counsel alone. He had even put an end for good to the rebellious Sons of the Harpy. Not only the people but also Daenerys were deeply satisfied with his work. His relationship with the Mother of Dragons had drastically improved from their first encounter. With her complete trust around his hands, Tyrion was now a friend as well as a close advisor to the Queen. He was still suspicious about this new monarch, but anyone who was not Joffrey was without doubt an improvement.

His new life was pleasant enough. Even a little enjoyable. But nightmares still haunted Tyrion during his lone nights. At least Chaos was not with him any longer. Instead, he found himself often in the company of Daario Naharis. The only man within the Great Pyramid who would share with him a cup of wine and share dirty japes. He reminded Tyrion much of Bronn, yet in a more elegant way. From what Tyrion could gather, the sellsword has being a very close partner to the Queen.

“Tell me, dwarf,” he once asked, “you who have probably shared a bed with every single woman from the Seven Kingdoms. Have you ever met one more beautiful than Daenerys?”

_ Yes,  _ Tyrion thought,  _ my wife. _ But silence was the only response he gave.

Time passed unexpectedly, and all of a sudden Tyrion’s plan to sail to Westeros was set in motion. They were to leave tomorrow after dusk, his new friend staying behind to guard Meereen in Daenerys’ name. Although the only thing Tyrion wished to do that night was to rest on his soft bed and prepare for his new journey, his presence was requested by the Queen to the Audience Chamber.

The room was empty except for the Targaryen girl and him, once he entered. His footsteps echoing in the silence of the hall. Having her sitting on her chair, it was easy for Tyrion to match her height. The Queen engaged with him in a fine conversation. Even though it was a very pleasant one, he could not understand why he needed to be called during the late hours of a night just to talk.

“Why are you such a cynic, Tyrion?” she asked somewhere along their dialogue.

“Well, I have been one for as long as I can remember.” Tyrion answered taking a sip of wine from the cup he had on his hand, “Everyone is always expecting the rest to believe in things. Family, gods, kings, even malformed monsters like myself. But I’ve seen what belief does to people, and I would not enjoy to join them. Yet, here I am, believing you could be the rightful one to wear a crown and sit upon the Iron Throne.” He meant his words to sound as a jape but realized Daenerys had taken them with very much seriousness, so he attempted to lighten the mood, “I’d swear you my sword, but I don’t actually own one.”

She laughed and took an unidentifiable object from her dress, “It is not your sword I seek, but your counsel. You have proven yourself more than worthy. You have done much more than any of my advisers during your short stay in this city. You have not failed me once. So despite your name, despite the history of our Houses-” she took the object and placed it on Tyrion’s doublet revealing a pin with the emblem of a hand, “I name you Hand of the Queen.”

And for the first time, Tyrion Lannister felt he had a true purpose to live by. He was now officially back in the game, and he was not going to let down.

The ships were all adorned with black sails. Some held the sigil of a golden kraken, but most, a three-headed red dragon. The wind was on their favor, allowing the fleet to sail in a fast manner. With his golden curls swirling with the dancing air, Tyrion looked over the distance where the Narrow Sea met the sky. He found himself humming a long forgotten tune. “The Winter Maid”.  _ You, who have never shown me a drop of affection, building ice walls and an armor around yourself.... Why do I long to find you again? _ _ _


	6. ALAYNE III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer form asoiaf and all that

Though the moon was rising from the east, night had fallen over the Vale of Arryn. Alayne’s beating heart accelerated in a disquieting way. From time to time, her breath was caught abruptly within the height of her throat, as she paced with anxiousness across her chambers. After a few moments of everlasting wait, she prepared herself to step out into the dark. She made sure to cover the bruises Petyr left on her earlier during the afternoon when he scolded her for yesterday’s actions. She bared each blow with not a single weep. _My father was executed next to me and my dreams were shattered in front of my eyes,_ the person she once was thought, _my family was butchered and my home burnt to dust._ _He can’t hurt me anymore, for I can no longer feel pain._

She covered her head and face with a dark cloak of navy silk, and grabbing a candle lamp, she silently left the fortress during midnight, when the moon was set high above on the starless sky. With soft steps upon the snow, Alayne made her path towards the Forest of the Moon. For a brief glimpse of time, she thought she was being followed, but it was merely her shadow being casted by the small flame she was holding. Once on the entrance to the woods, she gulped nervously, gathering all the courage within her to step in. Suddenly, a hefty hand grabbed her by the arm. She gasped in surprise and with his free hand, The Hound covered her mouth.

“Be quiet, little bird,” he said tightening his grip. Alayne couldn’t help but let another cry out at the contact with her fresh wounds. “Do you want to be discovered?”

He guided her to a clearing within the forest. There she found numerable tents and a woodfire. Brynden Tully and his men were camping on the place. Once he spotted her arrival, the Blackfish arose to meet her.

“Good evening, Ser Brynden.” she greeted politely, “My name is Alayne Stone-”

The Blackfish narrowed his eyes at her, “Are you, though? The Dog tells me you are someone else” he stepped closer to her as she tried to show no reaction on her face. His voice softened, “Child, the hue of your pupils give away the Tully blood that runs through your veins.”

“No, I-” she attempted to excuse herself.

“If you are who I think you are,” he interrupted, “you are family. And I can not help but worry about how you fell from the claws of a lion to the treacherous song of a Mockingbird.”

Her heart skipped an intriguing beat, “Lord Tyrion was kind, he was gentle.”

“And a Lannister all the same.” he replied coldly, “Family, Duty, Honor. My blood comes before anything else. I can help you escape, niece. I can take you far from here if so is your wish. Just say the word and you shall be free.”

_ I will never be free,  _ she thought. Yet the feeling of hope that was pumping up her pulse allowed her to believe in an opportunity. “Escaping Littlefinger will be no easy task. We would need to devise a plan. A  _ clever  _ one.”

“Nonsense!” Tully exclaimed “We should just take you and depart immediately! My men are few, aye, but they have the talent of an entire army.”

_ Now I know why they call him the most stubborn man alive.  _ “You must trust me, Ser, I know Lord Baelish and how he works. You can’t defeat him with swords if his weapon is his mind. We must play the game by his rules. Besides, if you choose to run away with me, you’d lose any chance of getting the Riverlands back from the Freys.” she said firmly. An idea then crossed her head, “Tell me, is there any female heir to the Tully name left in the family?”

He inspected her curiously. “Why, yes. Roslin Tully nee Frey has just given birth a baby girl. With her father’s neck being tied by the Kingslayer, she is the rightful heir to the seat of Riverrun.”

“Then you shall propose a betrothal to Littlefinger, offering her hand to Lord Robert Arryn. The idea should keep him entertained enough for him to notice me leaving.”

“The hand of a newborn babe?” The Blackfish asked furiously “Are you asking me to give up my ancestral home to such man?!”

“I am asking you to make him believe you are doing so.” she replied calmly, “Baelish thrives for power in any form. He won’t let the opportunity of taking hold of the Riverlands slip through his fingers. Make him believe you are ever so desperate to recover your homeland that you would even surrender to his will. Use the childhood stories of your nieces to capture his attention. And once I am safely gone, order your men to seize him. Let the lords of the Vale know my name and tell them how that man pushed their Lady Protector through Moon Door. They don’t trust Littlefinger and will have no second doubts in locking him in a sky cell. Then, you might find the chance to convince the knights of the Eyrie to fight alongside you to avenge Lysa’s former home.”

It frightened her to the bone how quickly she had devised such a complicated plan. Regardless, she accomplished her goal as Brynden Tully’s expression shifted from flaming anger to sincere admiration.

“You resemble your mother far more than people give you credit for, my lady.” he said softly, “You have inherited not only her looks but also her fierceness and mind.”

_ If only I were still her daughter,  _ she thought. Even so, she blushed as red as her hair once was. 

“Tomorrow you shall be far gone from these rocky fields.” The Blackfish assured her and then turned to The Hound, “Clegane, can I trust you with my niece? It might be best for only one companion to travel with her to avoid the attention of sneaky eyes.”

“Aye,” he replied “I can take care of the little bird.”

On her way back to the fortress, Alayne could not swallow the shrieks that were forming upon her breaths. She might never need to surrender to Littlefinger again. Her encounter with Ser Brynden Tully had certainly lifted her spirits. It felt nice to have a family again, even if the man was Sansa’s uncle. Her thoughts queerly wandered off to her husband once more.  _ Will I find you out there once I escape? Will you look at me bitterly? Where are you, Tyrion? _ She could not determine if she was constantly thinking about him out of pity or because she had finally realized that she valued his kindness once she had lost it.

Lost in her mind, she almost did not notice there was a woman waiting for her inside her chambers with threatening eyes. Myranda.

“Hello, Alayne. Or should I say, Lady Sansa Stark?”


	7. TYRION III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing as Jon knows nothing

White rays of sun were piercing the thick grey clouds that settled above the skies of Westeros. They fell against the sea making gleams of gold as the waves rose up, fell and rose up again. The ships were being anchored on the near shore of the island while few small boats were rowed by a handful of unsullied, carrying the Queen and her closest advisors towards the land, to set foot upon the Seven Kingdoms at last. Above them, Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion were sweeping through the air; their dragon roars being echoed by the wind. Tyrion would never cease to be amused by their marvelousness. They seemed eager to reach the castle, as if they somehow knew it was their long-lost home.

Their boat met the sand smoothly and the crew stepped out of it once Daenerys did. She was, of course, the one who should take the lead. The Breaker of Chains has returned to her birthplace and despite her abundant regal titles, she looked like nothing else than a naive child who is meeting her home for the first time.  _ Welcome to Dragonstone, Your Grace, _ Tyrion thought.

She inhaled every single detail of the ancient Targaryen castle with shaky breaths. The colossal dragon gates, the protracted stairway, the statues of stone, the ventanals of grey glass… all seemed to take her aback, though nothing as much as the sight of Dragonstone’s throne. It might not be the seat she came to conquest, yet Tyrion noticed the silent tears that ran down the Queen’s pale cheeks once she let her touch wander against it. With a shake of her head, she guided her men towards the Chamber of the Painted Table to plan the next steps down her path to the Crown of the Seven Kingdoms. Not without ordering her soldiers to tear down every banner of a stag on a flaming heart they could spot.

Running her hand across the length of the Painted Table, Daenerys made way to climb into her high seat, where she could stand tall above the rest and even taller from the map of Westeros. She looked at each of them, death in her eyes.

“Shall we begin?” She asked her counselors, breaking the deafening silence that had veiled the atmosphere since their arrival. “What is the position of our enemies?”

Ser Barristan Selmy stepped forward, closer to the table. “Challenging, Your Grace. Stannis Baratheon prepares himself to battle the Boltons, who currently have hold of both Winterfell and the Dreadfort. The young lad who goes by the name of Aegon Targaryen has taken the Stormlands, the Golden Company behind his back. He has also gained the favor of Dorne by taking the hand of Princess Arianne Martell, heir of Sunspear. The Reach is at great risk of falling into their hands too, as the Tyrells have been all slaughtered. Cersei Lannister managed to relieve herself from her trial before the High Sparrow by blowing up the Great Sept of Baelor with wildfire. She now proclaims herself Queen of the Realm, yet her alliances are counted with the fingers of a hand.”

A wave of uneasiness rushed within Tyrion. He had always known about his sister’s hatred, but he certainly could never determine the limits of it. He acknowledged he was not free of evilness; he saw himself a monster, after all. Yet that only then made her sister the incarnation of the Seven Hells themselves. He couldn’t help but wonder what misfortune could have fallen upon Tommen. Ser Jorah looked as appalled as him and Missandei and Grey Worm seemed somewhat confused, they did not yet understand these foreign fields.

But the hue of Daenerys’ eyes shifted from lilac to ardorous red. The rage of a dragon. She was irritated. Angry. Desperate.

“We have enemies on each corner of the Kingdoms,” she said, “all of them at each other’s throats. Good. Let my dragons set fire to their armies. Burn their castles and cities to the ground. They will be too preoccupied with their own battles they won’t see me coming from their sky above.”

_ She must be as mad as her father to even suggest such thing,  _ Tyrion thought.  _ Not nearly as mad as my sister, though.  _ “Pardon me, Your Grace, but while you’d rid yourself from all your enemies that way, you’d also give away your Kingdom. Unless you fancy ruling ashes, of course.”

“I see no other possibility to conquer back my claim than with Fire and Blood.”

“Then pray, dear Khaleesi, why did you bother bringing an army?” he said as politely as he could, “I say let our enemies Hear us Roar, not burn.”

Her eyes glared with outrage at the mention of the Lannister words, Tyrion was narrowing his own. The rest of the members of the council stood with stiffened bodies upon the tension between the Queen and her Hand. Right when Daenerys parted her lips to speak again, a figure entered the chamber, granting a shift from the gloomy mood the Lion and the Dragon had caused.

A handsome man with pale skin and long black hair and beard presented himself upon the far edge of the Painted Table, opposite to Daenerys, with a large smirk settled on his face.  _ The Crow’s Eye _ , Tyrion thought,  _ They say beneath his patch he conceals a black eye that shines with malice. His cannot be more evil than mine, kinslayers as we both are. _

“Euron Greyjoy.” Khaleesi said taking some time in leaving Tyrion’s eyes to focus on the ironborn.

“Ah, my beloved Dragon Queen,” he said with much confidence, “do forgive my delay. I did receive your raven inviting me to your precious castle some while ago, yet the winds and tides were not kind to my travels. Regardless, better late than never at all.”

“It is of no matter, we have only just begun.”

“Magnificent. After weeks of traveling with no one to talk with, I can finally relieve with your company and voices. Even if it is of boresome politics we must discuss.”

Dany’s eyebrows knitted together, “No one to talk with? But what about the members of your crew? You couldn’t have possibly come here alone.”

“No one can manage to live by one’s self, Your Grace,” he said with an impish smile, “let alone travel the seas. But I don’t need my men to talk in order for me to set sail. As their captain, their tongues belong to me. Without it, they have no way to argue my orders. They are of the most loyal things in this world! Although, I didn’t think well through of how lonely I would become on deck.”

Tyrion saw the hint of a flinch as the Queen reacted to Euron’s comment. She was the savior of slaves, a Mhysa to the abused and a vindicator of those who wrong her values. She was not liking the most powerful potential ally she for the moment had.

“Why should I trust a man who has no honor? How can you respect your Queen if you have no consideration for your own kin?”

“Because I have a large fleet and men who could help you win your war, of course.” he said raising his arms to the air and laughed bitterly. “And if we are going to talk about respect for one’s kin, why shan’t we start with the half-man who is your Hand?”

Tyrion was unmoved by the notion for his wits were scheming a plan. “Your Grace, why don’t we let our dearest Greyjoy to prove himself worthy of your trust? I propose we give him a mission. Were he to fulfill it, he shall be named Lord of Pyke and sit above the Salt Throne as protector of the Iron Islands. Would he fail, he is to be banished from the lands of Westeros, with no further claim to the blessings of the Drowned God.” When Dany nodded at him, he turned to face the Crow’s Eye, “Gather all your forces and take the Reach in the name of Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen. Place the banner of a three headed dragon over Highgarden and prevent any access from our enemies to the agriculture of the land. Am I clear?”

“As seawater.” Euron said grinning and took immediate leave, eager to accomplish his new command at once.

The rest of the council was then excused as well. On the way to his room, Tyrion realized how exhausted he was. Not even wine could help him soothe the ache on his twisted legs and mind. Sleep claimed him at the very moment he settled his head against the feathered pillow of his bed. After a nightmare regarding a golden chain around a neck and silver coins falling from a hand, he drifted into the oddest of his dreams.

_ He found himself in a dim enormous room. Marked on the floor, a star with seven points, a person standing on each vertice. The Seven approached him in lagged paces, their faces almost imperceptible. He killed the Father with a bolt and the Mother with life, their bodies fading like dust and mingling with the dark. The Smith had her claws deep within the Warrior, their faces looking as alike as if they were the same person. She was forging the Warrior’s sword and guiding his strikes towards Tyrion. After failing at each fierce attempt, both turned their backs and left together as the came. The Crone retreated on the back of a dragon, off to guide others, and the Stranger went wherever whores go. Only the Maiden remained. In the middle of the room, unlike the others, she stayed. With hairs of autumn, eyes of water and skins of snow… she stayed. _

_ “Tyrion...” she called. Her voice a cry for help. _

  
He awoke with a start.


	8. ALAYNE IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not GRRM, ASOIAF is his.

Her body stood stiffened as the rocky mountains of the Vale. Her skin turned paler than usual and her knees were frozen on the spot. Myranda crossed her arms against her round breasts, strands of her curly brown hair falling down her face from her half-knot. Her brown gown only highlighted the playful threat that was set within her eyes.

“Tell me, my lady, has the Blackfish taken your tongue?” she spoke up.

“ Randa, it is not-”

“Oh, so it is finally Randa now?” Myranda interrupted, “Don’t trouble yourself with lies, Lady Stark. Ser Osmund Kettleblack has informed me exactly who you are. Some men like to speak far more than they should when they are rightfully pleased, don’t you think? Even so, my lord father did have his suspicions about you and tasked me to keep a close eye on you. You do should be more careful with who might be following you in the dark of the night.”

“Myranda please-”

“Exposing you might grant me power over the Vale,” she said interrupting Alayne once more, “but it is not power what I seek. For now, Harry is the only thing I want.”

“He is yours if you want him to, please-”

“By all rights he should be! Or at least  _ shouldn’t  _ be yours, for you are already married.” she then smirked, “If we ever have the opportunity again, you must tell me all about your wedding night. The Imp has quite a fame abed, or so I have heard.”

_ In the dark, I am the Knight of Flowers _ , she remembered,  _ I could be good to you. _ But she shook her thoughts away focusing on Myranda. “The opportunity again? What do you mean?”

“That I’m helping you escape, of course. The sooner you are gone from here the better chance I have on gaining my Harry back.” she replied, “I hope I don’t kill this one, though.” 

Alayne was taken aback. “Thank you…” she had managed to say softly.

“Oh, I am not doing this for you, my lady.” Myranda said.

“I know,” she replied, “But I do need to ask one more thing of you. You must hide Sweetrobin. Take him long with Ser Harrold and find somewhere safe to stay until Littlefinger is dealt with. He has wicked plans for the poor boy. If he were to survive, he will not hesitate on setting them to motion, taking down the last Arryn from the Eyrie.”

Myranda stared at her with intrigue, “And with Lord Baelish gone, will you take over the protection of the Vale?”

Alayne glanced about the room nervously, “That is not a discussion for the moment. Now, get back to your chambers before anyone notices you are here. I shall leave tomorrow, after the sun sets. Be sure to have all preparations ready by then.”

Once Myranda had safely left her room, Alayne filled a pot with hot water and began to wash the black off her hair. No one was to see the Bastard of the Eyrie leaving in the night. After long moments, her locks remained brownish, with hints of black and auburn alike.  _ Tomorrow I shall wash off the rest. I’ll excuse myself from any activity during the day. I’ll say my moonblood has me sick and bar the door to my chambers. And once the skies turn dark, I’ll leave the Vale at last. My hair the same color as when I arrived. _

The sun rose and fell quicker than she would have preferred. Anxiousness was getting the better of her courage. She paced around her room with trembling steps, her mind in a dwell of thoughts that put the Battle of the Trident to shame.  _ Stay calm, you will get back to your pack. What pack? Your family is dead. Arya is alive. You don’t know that. She is a fierce wolf, if I have survived then so has she. You have trouts too… and a little lion, wherever he is. _

The full moon reached the high middle of the sky marking the midnight hour. The time had come. Taking her hood and furs, she stepped out of her room. There was no way of exiting the fortress without passing by Littlefinger’s solar. She would’ve run straight past it, but a conversation placed behind the other side of his door captivated her attention.

“You left bruises on her?” A male voice spoke, “Was that wise, my lord?”

“Of course I did, Ser Osmund.” Littlefinger replied, “I had to teach her a lesson. Her name is what matters. Her claim. I care less than a copper token about the state of her body. Besides, no matter what I do to her she  _ always  _ comes back. Soon I will have the North and the Riverlands as well as the Eyrie around my hands. Once they are secured I shall need nothing more of her. I might even give her to you, Ser, if you’d like.”

She didn’t stay to hear anything further. Her anger turned her face as red as her hair.  _ Oh, I will come back to you, father,  _ she thought as she stepped out into the cold,  _ but not with my hands empty. _

The Hound was waiting for her outside the Forest of the Moon and they both started down their path. Taking one last glance at the Vale under the night sky, she sent her farewells to Alayne Stone. She was a bastard no longer. She was now a noble lady again. Daughter of Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard, sister of five siblings and heir of the North.

“Where will we go?” she asked the Hound

“Dragonstone,” he replied avoiding her eyes, “The Targaryen girl has landed there. They say your husband is her Hand, he might give me a fine pay for you. Them Lannisters and their bloody debts. Gain the Queen’s trust and you might get your pretty castle back, little bird.”

Her blood ran warm against the falling snow upon the mention of Tyrion and her tummy fluttered as she thought of her home. For the first time in a long, she felt confident of herself.

_ I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell and I will take back what is rightfully mine. For Winter is coming, and I with it. _


	9. JON I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer from asoiaf. Also, you may notice how other character's chapters might be far shorter than Sansa's or Tyrion's to keep the plot mainly focused on them

An abiding veil of darkness was the only protection he had from the glacial winds that enclosed him. There was no source of light except for unfamiliar pearls of sky-blue shining through the foggy snows. He felt his blood freeze like stone, making it difficult to move or breath. 

Then he saw a man… No… It couldn’t have been a man. He saw a corpse. A crown of ice set upon his head, arms risen up into the air and the largest army Jon had ever seen, behind his back, marching towards The Wall that divided the realms of men from death.

He waked up in a heating sweat that made his body shiver once his warmth was welcomed to the frosty air of Castle Black, his lungs rejoicing to breath again. Ghost rose up next to him with a cry and the Red Woman hurriedly entered the room with a look of disbelief. 

“What did you see, Jon Snow?” she said shaking him slightly by the shoulders.

He looked around the room in confusion and almost fainted back at the sight of the scars against his chest. Trying to gather his memories back between sharp sighs, he managed to say, “Mist… There was a blizzard… A storm…” He lifted his gaze up to Melisandre's, tears choking within his throat, “And blue eyes… The dead are coming. We must go to Stannis.”


	10. SANSA I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah... It feels so nice to call her Sansa again

The paths that led out of the Vale were perilous. By avoiding the main roads in order to prevent being spotted, or worse, recognized; Sansa and the Hound had to confront traveling through stretch rocky courses. They walked interminable steps during the day, never ceasing until the moonlight would set above above their heads. Although she was freezing to the bone, Sandor had insisted that they should not build any fires unless they wanted to be attacked by the mountain clans while they slept. She wondered if what he said was the true reason or if he was just framing an excuse to avoid being near a flame. At least she had his rum to warm her body, yet despite her attempts, she could never grow fond of its flavor.

Sansa was restless. She hadn’t slept properly since she had last placed her head upon a bed, and that must have been more than a few weeks from now. Her legs felt sore, her back pained and she felt an urgent need to take the hottest of baths to scrub away the vast amount of dirt her skin had picked up from the roads. Her uncomfortable nights had taken away her nightmares, at least. She could remember none, only one dream. She recalled seeing the Seven Gods in front of her, but something about them was amiss. The Smith, mender of broken things, had been wielding a book instead of a hammer and he was far shorter than he had any right to be. But she didn’t pay much mind to it, for dreams were only delusions of the mind. She had learned.

Once they finally left the Vale and wandered into the Riverlands, Sansa managed to convince the Hound to stop on the Inn at the Crossroads. She told him she would lose her mind if they kept travelling endlessly by foot and that her husband had no use of a lunatic wife, to which he wouldn’t pay a copper to Sandor for.

“A shame they sold you off to him,” the Hound said sipping from his ale once they were sitting on the dining hall at the Inn, “you deserved better than a Lannister, little bird.”

“They didn’t  _ sell  _ me off to him,” she replied, “he wanted the marriage no more than I did. I don’t think he had… any desire for me, after all the grown women he has been with. Besides, there could have been worse Lannisters to marry to.”

“Is that what he told you?” he said bursting out a ghoulish laugh, “That he had no desire of you? The Imp’s big head must have gone over the Seven Heavens to have such a pretty thing like you on his marriage bed!”

“Tyrion didn’t... he never touched me. He was gentle...” she said shyly looking away.  _ Not like you, who took a song from me and left me alone with a bloody cloak. _

The Hound’s face turned deadly serious then, his hand suspended in the air in complete appallment while lifting his cup of ale to his mouth. “Are you telling me he never once bedded you?”

Her blood pumped up to her cheeks at the memory of her wedding night. She was avoiding Sandor’s eyes, fidgeting her fingers through the end of her long greasy northern braid which fell from one side of her head, hoping he wouldn’t notice how flushed she was. “He… he almost did, out of duty of course. But he stopped on his tracks. He put my will over his father’s and gave me a choice.”

“And you told him to never touch you, I suppose.” She nodded her head slightly, with a bit of regret, and he shook his with a sigh, “How harsh of you, little bird. Still, it surprises me he kept his oath, knowing the kind of man he is. Or was, I suppose.”

“I didn’t appreciate it, back then. I didn’t know… the privilege it was. Now that I have seen more of the world… Men don’t usually wait on permissions. If something is theirs, or even if it is not, they usually take it with no hesitance. He never once took advantage of me, despite of my position. He was the only one to not care for my claim alone but for my wellbeing too. He tried hard to make me feel as if I were something more than a prisoner in King’s Landing, I remember. But I shut him behind my ice walls at each attempt, I just… couldn’t risk to be hurt again. Nevertheless, he never stopped trying. He saved me from Joffrey and the Queen more than once, he kept any details of the Red Wedding from reaching my ears and he… I overheard some handmaidens once, who claimed he confronted his father saying he would never force himself upon me. Only now I know how rare it is to find a kind heart within a man.”

The Hound grinned at her softly, “You have grown fond of the dwarf over the distance, haven’t you little bird?” Sansa’s heart skipped a beat.  _ He is a Lannister, _ she told herself,  _ I can’t be  _ fond  _ of him... But, after all, does his name truly matters to me anymore?  _

She thankfully was spared of a response as he readied himself to stand from the dining table, sipping the last of his ale. “Now go get yourself a bath or some songs to sing. And if you are to rest, make bloody sure to bar the door and windows of the room. I’ll go find us some horses because with your delicate lady footsteps we will never reach the port at the Bay of Crabs on time and you’d lose your chance to sail towards Dragonstone.” he said and then sighed, “Your sister was a better travelling companion than you, even if she never kept her mouth shut.”

And so he left her. She asked the innkeeper to help her finding a private bath. Even though she was now free from the Vale and Littlefinger, Sansa continued to feel the hollowing pit of emptiness on her chest. She intended to wash it, along with her troubling thoughts, down with hot water. But the attempt was of no good. Sitting on the wooden bathtub surrounded by essence of lemon, her mind wandered off to her emotions. She didn’t know how to feel about anything anymore.

She was mainly scared that the Dragon Queen would see her as a traitor.  _ Tyrion might save me from her too, _ she thought.  _ But what if he doesn’t want me back? What if he gave up on me or doesn’t simply care anymore? _ What the Hound had told her was true. She  _ has  _ grown fond of him. And the fact that she was beginning to care for a Lannister startled her even more than the Targaryen girl.

“Oh, mother…” she said out loud sending a prayer to Lady Catelyn Stark, “If only you were here you’d know what to do. I need your counsel. I need your embrace. Guide me Mother, for I don’t know what to do…” 

Tears began for the first in a long time to roll freely down her cheeks.


	11. ARYA I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter is a little dark and includes descriptions of violence
> 
> And yes.. I magically brought her back from Braavos to Westeros, I don't have time for 'No One' stuff
> 
> Disclaimer from ASOIAF and from HBO's Game of Thrones opening scene from 7x01

The roads that led up to The Twins were near as empty. Half of the men who inhabited the castle were away dealing with the pressing issues at Riverrun, and the ones who remained were the sluggish of them all. Like true Freys, they rathered to drink themselves to sleep instead of fulfilling their duties. None of them saw the girl who silently sneaked past their gates, a sword by one of her sides and a bag filled with mysteries from the God of Death by the other.

For a vast amount of time now, she had being wearing many faces, pretending to be people who were long gone or who never existed at all. There was no better feeling than finally being a Wolf again. To at last take the remaining names down her prayer of a list.

She found two men sharing a drink on a table below the battlements, and not a single soul besides them. With precautious steps, she approached towards them without their notion until she was in the middle of the two, at one end of the wooden table staring coldly down at them.

“Where is Walder Frey?” she asked sharply.

One narrowed his eyes. The other chuckled and said, “Fuck off, girl”

“Where is Walder Frey?” She repeated slowly, with a careful threat on each word, her voice hard as stone.

One of them grabbed her by her right wrist, “If you come warm my bed I’ll show you where.”

She twisted her hand changing the grip to her will and held the man by his forearm. With her left hand, she wielded Needle. Quick as a snake, she stepped a foot upon his chest and pierced his throat with her sword, as calm as still water. Before the other one could run from his seat, Arya stabbed his hand down to the wooden table with a dagger. The man let out a sharp cry, his breath making a cloud of vapor against the frosty air. She pressed the tip of Needle under his chin.

“Where is Walder Frey?” She said for a third and last time.

“He- He’s in his… in his so- solar,” he replied between mumbles and tears, “please-” but he spoke no more, as his throat suffered the same fate as the one of his companion’s.

Dressed as a lowborn handmaiden, with another’s face above her own, she entered Lord Walder’s solar with a pie which he served in front of him on the fine table he was sitting on.

“Where are my damned sons?” he asked her “Why are they not here? My food is already running cold and it was just served!”

“They are sleeping, my lord” she replied with a foreign tone of voice.

“Sleeping? Do they really mean to keep their father  _ and lord _ waiting? Fetch them at once, you foolish girl!” he spat.

“But they are already here, my lord. Resting.”

“Resting?... Here?...” Walder Frey echoed in perplexed confusion.

“ _ Here _ ,” she said motioning his pie, “my lord.”

With a fork, Walder cut a piece of the pie, revealing two fingers that fell on the spot. His old wrinkled skin turned as white as death and when he rose his gaze to look at her, he witnessed how her face changed. 

“Who... Who are y-” before he could finish his last words, Arya slit his throat open. 

“My name is Arya Stark of Winterfell.” she said looking down into his eyes until they lost the color of life.

With a new face added to her collection, she became the Lord of the Crossing. 

“Gather every member of House Frey,” she ordered a servant with Walder’s shaky voice, “Tell them we have a feast to celebrate. Announce to the cooks to prepare the finest of meals, I’ll attend to the wine myself.”

The servant did as bid, and in almost no time at all she was sitting in the High Seat of the Twins, with every single man by the name of Frey before her and Walder’s last wife by her side. Everyone in the hall seemed to be in full glee, engaged in amusing conversations and laughter. With three thumps of a cup against the dais table, she welcomed silence into the room.

“You are wondering,” she said, “why I brought you all here. After all, we just had a feast. Since when does old Walder give us two feasts in a single fortnight?” 

They responded with laughter and she continued, “Well it is no good being Lord of the Riverlands if you can’t celebrate with your family, that’s what I say!” The Freys cheered in approval. 

With a click of Lord Walder’s twisted fingers, she gave order to the servants to pour every guest with a cup of wine. “I’ve gathered every Frey who means a damn thing, so I can tell you my plans for this great house now that winter has come. But first, a toast! Taste the finest of Arbor Golds. Proper wine, for proper heroes!”

They all cheered in amusement again and stood up to say the words of their house.  _ Stand Together, yes,  _ she thought,  _ and fall as well. _

As they all gulped down the wine, she made sure to stop Walder’s wife from taking a single sip. Arya continued with the praises, “Maybe I am not a pleasant man, I admit it, but I am proud of you lot. You are my family! The men who helped me slaughter the Starks at the Red Wedding!”

Flames formed up within her eyes as they cheered once more.  "Yes, yes. Cheer. Brave men, all of you. Butchered a woman pregnant with her baby. Cut the throat of a mother of five. Slaughtered your guests after inviting them into your home."

Every male descendant of House Frey were suddenly coughing large droplets of blood. Choking, they slowly began to realize that the wine they had just drank deeply from was poisoned. One after the other were collapsing onto the cold floor.

"But — you didn't slaughter every one of the Starks," she said. "No, no. That was your mistake. You should have ripped them all out, root and stem. Leave one wolf alive, and the sheep are never safe."

As the last Frey breathing desperately clutched his throat, Arya removed Walder’s face and smirked at her deed with pride. "When people ask what happened here, tell them the north remembers," she said to the Frey girl beside her. "Tell them winter came for House Frey."

Walder’s wife immediately retreated with hurried steps and heavy pants. Giving one last glance at her revenge, she turned around with the intention of making her way off the hall. Instead, she found herself looking at an eerie woman who was leading a party of outlaw men. Her flesh looked soft, with the color of curdled milk. Most of her hair was gone and her remaining locks were silver gray with fading hints of auburn on the roots. There were reddish scratch marks on her cheeks and her throat was widely slit open. 

She was a living corpse, unrecognizable to those who once knew her. But Arya would never forget the eyes of her Lady Mother.


	12. STANNIS I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer from asoiaf

They were men of the Stormlands. They could fight and defeat any foe under the heaviest of rains and most deafening thunders. Their battle skills upon grasslands, hills and rocky shores were unparalleled. Yet their blood wasn’t meant to cope with the acutely cold weather of the North. His forces, his men who combated under the banner of a crowned stag enclosed by a flaming heart, were all dying.

His only hope relied on his most trusted advisor. If Davos was to find what he needed, he would win the support of the northern houses at last and march towards Winterfell with a larger army behind his back. But for now, he had to confront the current situation of his troops. His soldiers were fewer by the day, as every night the frigid winds took the life of one or two away. He even had to free the Greyjoy boy from his shackles and put a sword on his hands ordering him to fight. The lad barely seemed human with the innumerable amount of scars he bared and the sad despair within his eyes and his companion who was impersonating Lady Arya Stark looked even worse than he did.

“Your Grace,” said his squire who approached in quick breaths handing him a sealed parchment on his hands. “News have arrived. The Freys have been massacred in their own household, the Twins. The Lannisters hold the castle now.”

Stannis frowned his eyebrows even more than his regular expression, “And, pray, who eliminated this enemy of ours?”

“No one knows, Your Grace, it all happened while they were having a feast. They found Lord Walder’s body in his solar, but no head.”

“Well, whoever did so is either a valuable ally or no friend of us at all. Regardless, we have now one opponent less. The march on Winterfell will begin at a moment’s notice, have my forces ready.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” the squire replied, “And, my King, you have a visitor. Jon Snow has arrived from Castle Black, Lady Melisandre is by his side.

Eddard Stark’s bastard and the Red Woman entered the royal tent where Stannis waited for them. The young man begging for the help of his army to fight the Others, who he claimed were marching towards the Wall. He would have laughed at his face and send him off if Melisandre wouldn’t have been there, assuring him every word Snow said was true.

“I will lend my forces to you, Jon Snow,” he said as the boy’s face relaxed with relief, “but under one sole condition. That you and the men of the Night’s Watch join me in the Battle for Winterfell”

  
  


Jon’s eyes darkened with disappointment. “I fear, my lord, I am no longer part of the black. But I may be able to offer you the aid of the wildlings. After all, the Boltons are held responsible of their King’s murder.”

Without asking anything further, Stannis let the boy go back to where he came from to call down his forces. Melisandre remained with her King.

“Your forces are weak,” she whispered on his ear wrapping her arms around him from behind his back. “You are losing this battle before it has even begun. The way to win it requires a sacrifice. And there is only one with royal blood in this camp. You know what to do.” Quickly as that, she left Stannis to drown himself in the most troubling thoughts of mind.

_ She is my daughter, _ he thought fighting the tears while holding on tightly to the edge of a wooden table in front of him. He wasn’t a man known for his cries but for his determination. And he indeed knew what he had to do.

Most of his memories of that night were nothing more than a blur. His sight of the moment was hard to remember. But he could still hear her screams and the cracking of the fire as the flames devoured her flesh.  _ Is it really cruel for a man to give up his own blood for what is rightfully his?  _ He had assured to do the deed late in the night, with the eyes of no one but Melisandre and Lady Selyse. If someone else was to see, he was to be doubted as a King. He recalled his Lady Wife driving herself into the flames too, unable to witness a world without her daughter. Their daughter. But Stannis was stronger, he knew what he had to do.

The Onion Knight returned at dusk with all the King had hoped. Stannis summoned the northern houses to his camp to pledge their swords to his crown and join him to battle.

“You have no crown yet, Lord Stannis.” Lord Wyman Manderly had said.

“We pledge our swords to House Stark alone.” Little Lady Lyanna Mormont said too.

“Indeed,” Lord Harrion Karstark added and pointed to where the pretender of Arya Stark who was standing next to Theon Greyjoy, “and the last Stark alive is the Bolton bastard’s wife. The claim is his.”

“Anyone with wits can tell she is no Stark, my lords.” Stannis replied in a cold tone, yet evoked a mood of raging fire. “Tell me, do any of you see any trace of Lady Catelyn or Lord Eddard in her features?”

Stannis noticed how the lords of the North shifted their positions with doubt and he straightened his back to stand taller. “Besides,” he said turning towards the entrance of the tent where Davos was entering with a child by his side, “I have a better claim than Ramsay. Hereby I present you the true heir of Winterfell. Lord Rickon of House Stark.”

The northern leaders were frozen on their spot. Their bodies stiff like stone as they could not believe their eyes. Little Rickon was trembling at the multiple eyes who were staring back at him. To be in such position with only six years of age was no easy task for the boy.  _ But he must be strong. Strong like I am.  _

“How do we know it is really him?" Lord Umber asked. 

Davos moved to his side making path to an enormous black dire-wolf that stopped by Rickon's side to be tamed by the boy. The Lord's immediately rose to their feet lifting their swords up to the new Lord of Winterfell and bowing their heads to their new King. 


	13. THEON I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Chapter includes traumas from a character's past

In the midst of bushes and dirt he had hidden. He didn’t know what led him to follow the King, or the man who called himself so, perhaps a feeling from his gut. But oh how he wished he hadn’t witnessed the scene. He could’ve turned away… or he could’ve saved her from her fate. Just like he did with Jeyne Poole. Instead he stood still as a rock yet weaker than algae. His knees trembled and his breath shivered. The light of the fire bathed over him, but none of them noticed. The Princess’ screams of agony were now impregnated deep within his mind and the hopeless cries of her mother formed tears of his own making his eyes glassy. He had never met Shireen Baratheon and had barely talked to Queen Selyse. Even so, he lived their deaths again and again through the flashes of his nightmares, which awoke even worse memories from his recent tragic past.

He awoke with a start, sweating in spite of the bleak weather. Jeyne rose up too once she sensed his movements. The poor girl wouldn’t risk on sleeping alone after escaping Winterfell. Not after what Ramsay did to her. She now wore wounds and and deep purple bruises all around her body; but her biggest scars were found within, for the bastard made sure to break her soul. Just like he broke his. Theon didn’t mind having her close. He had willingly made it his duty to protect her, even though she was not Lady Arya as the Boltons made everyone believe. Her presence offered a queer sense of comfort within his tent. She somehow made Theon feel alive.

Jeyne didn’t ask him if anything was amiss, she knew it was the nightmares haunting him again. Just like they haunted her. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his shivering body holding him tenderly as tears rolled down his scarred cheeks. Once his sobbings stopped and his breaths relaxed, he spoke.

“Tomorrow at first light we are marching towards Winterfell. Stannis has asked me to be on the front lines as punishment for what I did.”

“You did nothing.” Jeyne replied with pain in her voice.

“They don’t know that.”

“Well I do,” she said, “You are not a bad man, Theon, not anymore. You  _ saved  _ me. I will never forget.” Her eyes grew glassy as she caressed his cheek and leaned her forehead against his, “Just promise me you will return to me. You  _ must  _ return to me, Theon. You are the only one who can protect me.”

He left never making the promise, he couldn’t give her hopes that he wasn’t sure could be fulfilled. 

In the dim light of dusk, the soldiers were reading themselves for battle. Baratheons, Northern Houses, Wildlings… all united under Stannis’ will. Even Little Lord Rickon was being sent off to battle in full armor. A child leading the armies of the North. He of course was only there to inspire his people, not to fight. The image was frightening to Theon nonetheless. His half brother, Jon Snow, was there too. Once he spotted him, he walked towards him with hurried steps and grabbed him by the collar of his armor.

“The only reason I am not killing you, Greyjoy,” Snow said gritting through his teeth, “is because my brothers are still alive and because your head is for Stannis to claim.”

With a hard punch on his face, the bastard left to lead his army of wildlings.  _ I deserved it,  _ he thought,  _ I was a monster. Now it is up to me to prove them I am so no more. _ And so, Theon Greyjoy charged into battle with a freshly broken nose, off to fight for the castle he himself burned to dust.

The images of the battle moved slowly around him. He felt uneasy being surrounded by so much blood and death. His heart was beating against his head blurring his vision. But he wouldn’t run away, he couldn’t despite of how coward he was.  _ I will never turn my cloak again _ . Gathering all the courage within his body, he fought. Their forces outnumbered the Boltons, and in no time they were at the gates of Winterfell. Jon Snow seemed to be engaged in a battle against Ramsay. A battle of bastards.

Ramsay was about to strike hard and true against Jon, who was laying in the floor his sword nowhere near his hands. Theon ran as fast as his legs could carry him and leaped into the air, grabbing Ramsay by the waist sending them both down to the grown. Theon placed himself above him looking him straight into the eye.

“Well hello there, Reek,” Ramsay said with a malicious smile, “eager to come back to your master?”

Theon’s fear was replaced with a vengeful rage. He punched Ramsay’s face once, twice, thrice…  _ For the Starks, for Jeyne, for me… _ He continued to punch until Bolton’s life passed away at the fists of a Kraken.


	14. JAIME I

He dreamt of blue eyes staring back at him in the dark of the night. He dreamt of his hands, one of flesh the other of gold, holding tightly around a throat. And he woke at the feeling of cold valyrian steel against his neck.

“I need a word with you, Ser Jaime.” the wielder of the weapon said.

“And, pray, does it need to be with you pointing your sword down at me while I sleep, Brienne of Tarth?”

The big woman looked down at her actions as if only now realizing how foolish they seemed. Jaime rose from his bed, built a fire within his tent and served two cups of wine upon the table they were to sit at. Brienne refused her cup.

“Not a lover of Dornish Red? I could get you some Arbor Gold if you would like,” Jaime said, “but not before you explain me your reason for sneaking into a Lannister battle camp at the Riverlands in the middle of the night. What is wrong Brienne?” His last sentence had sounding softer than he intended.

“Ser Jaime,” she replied “You know I am a woman true to her word and would never lie. Not even to my enemies. You must trust me, for what I am about to say is hard to… comprehend. You’re in grave danger, this place is not safe for you. I mean to… I am trying to…” she looked down to her fidgeting fingers. He could swear she was blushing, but it was hard to tell with such dim lighting. She stared back into his eyes, “You saved me once, so it is natural of me to try and save you too.”

He caught a deep breath, genuinely moved by her words, but didn’t show a single emotion on his face. “Pardon me but, from what exactly do I need to be saved from?”

And so Brienne told him the story of Catelyn Stark. The She-Wolf who rose up back from the dead. A living corpse who goes by the name of Lady Stoneheart and now leads the Brotherhood Without Banners, avenging any soul who ever hurt her family.  _ And of course _ , he thought,  _ she wants the blood of the Kingslayer to run cold. _ Jaime was about to burst into laughter in front of Brienne’s face until she showed him the bruised marks of a hanging rope around her neck. He froze on his seat.

“Well, Lady Brienne, how do you mean to save me? I can’t simply leave my forces behind. Not with the new issues at the Twins.” he said sighing.

“But you must.” she insisted, “You are not safe with the Lannisters anymore. Your sister… she… she blew up the Great Sept of Baelor. They say King Tommen threw himself off the top of Maegor’s Holdfast. Cersei is now Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and she… she has a price on your head, accusing you of treason for not helping the crown when requested.”

_ I love you, I love you, I love you, _ he recalled from Cersei’s letter,  _ do you truly, sweet sister? _ “Well, if I am not safe here, and neither in King’s Landing nor Casterly Rock, where do you mean to take me?”

Brienne glanced about the room nervously before looking back at him, “The Targaryen Queen has landed on Westeros.”

Jaime was taken aback, “You expect the daughter of the Mad King to welcome with open arms the man who shoved his sword through her father’s back after taking a vow to protect him with his life?”

“No, I don’t expect that from  _ her _ . Your brother, Tyrion, he’s working as her Hand. He might keep you safe.”

His eyes widened. He looked down from her gaze trying to organize the trillion troubling thoughts that swarmed around his head. “This is a terrible plan.” he said. Yet he escaped from the camp unseen, Brienne guiding his new path.


	15. TYRION IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so disclaimer from asoiaf and also from the lyrics of "The Halfman Song" by miracle of sound.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to Èmilie who... wanted to be killed by Tyrion? Well you only died in his mind but it still counts (Èmilyon=Èmilie)

News of the Dragon Queen’s arrival in dragonstone spread like wildfire throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Some few peasants as well as merchants found their way to sail towards Dragonstone to meet Daenerys, making the deserted island feel alive again. The Targaryen girl was charmed with it all. Getting to meet the people of her country and their traditions brought a wide smile on her face. She had many audiences with them during the day. Once there was a silk merchant gifting her the finest of gowns. Another time, there was a woman who brought flowers all the way from the Reach; Tyrion couldn’t understand how the plants reached Dragonstone in such intact state after the long voyage. And in a different occasion, a fool who juggled with flaming swords of fire.

Today, it was a singer. He presented himself under the name of  È milyon, and sang countless of tunes commonly known in Westeros. Tyrion didn’t understand why he needed to be present during these audiences while he could be devising war plans and strategies, but Dany insisted that the Queen’s Hand should always remain by her side. As the singer began to run out of songs to sing, he made some of his own. Tyrion was about to doze off from boredom on his seat until one of  È milyon’s songs caught his attention.

_ No cheekbones chiselled on a feline face  _

_ No skill or savvy with a sword  _

_ But this game we all play is won in wily ways  _

_ And sly is this littlest lord  _

_ In the arms of a whore I made a promise  _

_ Sinking deeper into danger every day  _

_ Cut through all their shit with a brazen wit  _

_ Molding puppets from their minds of clay  _

Tyrion balled his hands into fists, his face turning as red as wine.  _ He is mocking me, _ he thought as his mismatched eyes blazed with anger,  _ pretty voice he has. It’d be too shameful if someone took it away from him. I could order for his throat to be slit open, but that is not style. I’d prefer a chain of gold. Yes. A chain around his neck tightly as I pull it down with my own hands until his body stops trembling sending a farewell to life. If only my Hand’s pin had a chain like the one of my father’s used to have…  _

He retreated from the hall with the excuse of needing to take a piss. He was not to hear another single word from  È milyon’s song. He made way towards his chambers and poured himself a cup of wine once he entered. After finishing it down with three deep gulps, he kicked off his boots and climbed into his bed with the use of his stool. He rested his head upon the pillow and stared at the canopy, letting his thoughts swim over his mind.

_ What did you expect, dwarf? That they would sing songs about how you valiantly led an army through the Mud Gate? Songs about how you saved an entire city with your clever use of wildfire? No. They will only sing of your twisted form and your monstrous looks, because they can’t see past their noses as they have one, unlike you. _ He closed his eyes hoping to fill himself with resentment, anger and dark thoughts. But the pit that had been forming up his chest was swallowing him whole into sadness and loneliness. Even so, he refused to let his eyes cry.

After a dreamless sleep, he was summoned to the Chamber of the Painted Table for the daily war plan meeting. It was long and exhausting alike all the previous ones. At least this time, there were some entertaining updates. Euron had accomplished his task and conquered the Reach on Daenerys’ name, Stannis defeated the Boltons on the battlefield acquiring the North and the Freys had apparently been massacred, leaving the Riverlands with no leading house. Although it meant more workload for Tyrion to attend, the game was certainly turning to be very interesting. He couldn’t help but wonder what the Spider was planning, whispering his secrets into the ear of the Targaryen boy.

Later during the night, the meeting was called off. Tyrion felt utterly exhausted. The muscles from his small legs were cramping and his head hurt badly. He was walking alone with no one nearby back to his room when he suddenly, an humongous hand grabbed him by his clothes and pulled him towards another corridor. There he faced , to his surprise, the Hound and a hooded woman. 

“Clegane, what are you doing here? How did you get past the guards?” he asked.

“I have something that belongs to you, Lannister.” the Hound replied motioning his burned and scarred head towards the covered lady.

When she took her hood back. Tyrion’s eyes widened and his breath hitched. Not even the sight of dragons had surprised him so as her presence. His blood ran warm, then cold and then warm again. He wondered if the mixture of conflicting feelings he was experiencing were caused by how unexpected this was or if there was another reason… if there was something else that her apparition had stirred within him…

For a moment, he thought he was seeing a ghost, she was certainly pale enough to be one. But he’d recognize that skin of ivory against her locks of autumn anywhere. Her lips had lost some of their color, but he could swear he saw a glimpse of them lifting upwards, as if the sight of him was relieving yet scary at the same time. And those icy eyes were still there too. There was something different about them, though. They held… could it be…  _ could it really be they were holding hope? _


	16. SANSA II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own ASoIaF
> 
> The italics of the last paragraph from this chapter are from the translated lyrics of the song "Mhysa", composed by Ramin Djawadi for HBO's Game of Thrones and used in 3x10. However, the very last sentence is completely mine.

In utter perplexity, both of them stood unable to move a single finger, their lungs incapable of taking a breath. Within a few seconds, thousands of years rolled past them. There could have been a siege suddenly happening, but they wouldn’t have noticed, for they were completely lost in each other’s gaze.

For a brief moment, Sansa saw his eyes glow, making the blood from her body rush towards her chest. She was about to sigh the widest of smiles when all of a sudden his expression darkened, as if a repenteous aura of gloom took possession of his body.

“Thank you, Clegane,” Tyrion said with a voice as dry as the sands over Dorne, “thank you for returning my wife to me. I shall take her from now.”

“A Lannister will pay for his debt, I assume.” The Hound hissed.

“Always.” he replied coldly, still not taking his eyes away from Sansa, “On the morrow, Dog.”

With that, Sandor departed, leaving the two of them alone together. Tyrion escorted her to his chambers, never once raising his look up to her. Never once speaking a sole word. Never once letting her know if he cared. 

When they reached his room, he opened the door allowing her to step in first. The place was luxurious, even bigger than the chambers they shared in King’s Landing, but the grey stones of the castle gave it a somber look. Tyrion closed the door behind her. He leaned the back of his head against the door taking a deep breath and then stepped slowly towards her, until he was at a closer distance, yet not close enough to touch her. Finally looking up to her, she noticed that his eyes were blazing with anger. But it wasn’t anger alone. There was hurt too.

“You left me.” he said gritting through his teeth with a hint of ache, his words reaching her ears as a lance piercing a heart. Sansa’s eyes widened and her mouth hung slightly open unintentionally. She felt as if her soul had just been pushed down the Moon Door, leaving her body spiritless. 

“I… Pardon me, my lo-”

“Don’t you do that.” he interrupted with irritation and pursed his lips together breathing heavily through his nose, “Don’t you dare to come back at me with your frigid courtesies. Why are you here, Sansa? You seemed to have no trouble in leaving me behind with another’s crime on my hands. I thought about you, when Joffrey died. I thought about you, I wanted to see if you were well after witnessing such miserable image. But I couldn’t see you. I couldn’t find you. I thought you were perhaps among the vast crowd of guests, but later while I was left to rot in a cell my uncle told me you were gone. With no trace, you disappeared and didn’t even give me a warning about what was to happen. I know you never cared for me, but shouldn’t have your damned Stark honor given you the courage to at least inform your husband that you were sending him off to die while you ran away?”

Tears began to dwell upon her eyes, “Tyrion, I-”

“No, Sansa, let me finish.”

_ Is he really blaming me for a choice I didn’t have voice for? _ The sadness in her tears turned into rage. “No, you let me speak.” she said raising her voice as she had never done before. Not even when she was angry at her sister. “Do you think I wanted to go away in such way? Do you think I wanted to leave you behind? I only wanted my home back and was stupid enough to believe I could return there. It was foolish of me to fall for his promises while he took me somewhere else. While he took my name, my dreams and my claim. But I am not naive anymore. I am not a child. So I won’t let you talk to me as if I were nothing more than a vile outlaw who has no compassion for those who have shown her good. Yes I didn’t care for you, back then. But I wouldn’t have hurt you willingly either.”

Tyrion stood bewildered on his spot. She could notice his body shiver and his hands ball into fists. “Who took you?”

Her skin turned as red as her hair and she dropped her gaze to the floor briefly before returning it to is mismatched eyes. “Littlefinger. He promised to take me back to Winterfell and instead he took me to the Eyrie as his bastard daughter and kept me hidden there. I thought he was protecting me. He seemed fond of me as people said he was of my mother. He… he molested me… more than once… Gods he even pushed my aunt Lysa through the Moon Door and I defended him from his crime! I really was stupid.” she said kneeling down to the floor in complete misery, inadvertently matching her husband’s height.

“A child.” he corrected shaking his head as he approached her with careful steps as if he were getting closer to a wild dire-wolf. He didn’t touch her, though. He only seeked her eyes with his, his scar illuminating against the candle lights.  _ It is not as bad as I remember.”,  _ Sansa thought. 

“A stupid child.” she replied, “He intended to win the North and the Vale through me. He made an arrangement for me to marry someone else. But I told him that I was already married. And so I clinged on the vague hope that you were alive, wherever you were. I prayed to all the gods that they let you survive, because you were my sole shield from being sold away. I am sorry for how I treated you back in King’s Landing, but you must understand I shut myself behind walls of ice to avoid being hurt any further. You were kind to me, I remember. Hence I come to you now, asking you to keep me safe once more.”

She saw his chest rise up by a wave of emotional breaths, letting her know that he did care. His eyebrows arched with sadness, “Why me, Sansa? I am small and malformed, I can barely protect myself..”

Sansa looked deep into his eyes, trying to keep her tears at bay on the corners of her own. “Because you are the only family I have left that I could find.”

Tyrion’s eyes grew glassy, then. She had never seen her husband ever shed a single tear before. He took a small step backwards shaking his head, “No. You shouldn’t have come, Sansa. I am cursed now, I’m a kinslayer. The gods have forgotten about me, granting me a life with misfortunes alone. All those who ever cared the slightest for me always end up suffering. I have been cursing people since the very beginning, haven’t I? I killed my mother before I could even learn how to blink properly. I am a monster.”

“Joffrey was a monster.” she said, “Your father was a monster. Your sister  _ is  _ a monster. You might not have the height, strengths or looks of a gallant knight, but you have proven yourself to be comely in your heart.”

He placed a hand on the bridge of his nose frowning, “Sansa, stop...”

“You have saved me from all of them when they tried to tear me apart with their claws. You took your vows to the heart when you wrapped the cloak of your protection about my shoulders and unlike I, you were the only one to care about the welfare of your wife. You  _ are  _ a good man.”

“You don’t know about all the horrible things I have done!” he shouted, his words echoing within the stone walls of the room making Sansa shiver. She knitted her brows together, rage returning to her once more.

“No I don’t!” she spat back, “But I do know about all the kind ones you have done for me.” She noticed him closing his eyes and tremble with anger at her words. “What will you do, Tyrion? What, will you strike me now to make me believe you are a monster? Strike me then!”

He approached closer to her with one quick step and a fist hanging in the air, Sansa didn’t even flinch. He never hit her. Instead, his eyes narrowed with ache and his tears finally began to fall. Hers, then, rolled down too. He placed his hand hesitantly on her cheek and she leaned into his touch instinctively.  _ Your Imp will make a better husband, _ she recalled,  _ he is a bigger man than he seems, I think. _

“I’m sorry, Sansa.” he said amidst the mumbles of his cries.

“There is nothing to forgive, Tyrion.” she replied softly, “And if anything, I am cursed too.”

He dared to lean his forehead against hers, “There is  _ nothing  _ cursed about you.”

“Then why does misfortune follow me wherever I go? Why do people, innocent people, die on my name?”

“To you and me both.” he said curving his lips upwards with sorrow.

“Then, we are nothing more than two sides of the same coin.”

“One flesh, one heart, one soul, after all.” he replied mockingly repeating the marriage vows of the Faith of the Seven. She laughed a painful smile.  _ Now and Forever. _

Suddenly breaking, she placed her head upon his chest and wrapped her arms around his small body. She needed comfort, and he was the only one she could trust him with so. He placed a hand behind her neck while the free one caressed her hair as he placed his bearded chin against the top of her skull. Despite the claim she had on the North, despite the pin he wore on his chest, they were only mere pawns of a game played by the cruel. A game that has ripped them apart and destroyed them from within. She cried against his chest and he sobbed next her ears, each of them holding ever so tightly onto one another.

Sansa let her heart take the thoughts from her mind for a moment, as she felt the void of her chest finally being filled,  _ Long we have suffered, they didn’t want us to be free. They couldn’t stop our souls to be. For some time we have dreamed, so they wouldn’t let us sleep. But they couldn’t stop us from finding freedom, as I now hold on to thee. _


	17. TYRION V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i do not own asoiaf

For the first time, sharing a bed with her during the night was no source of torment for Tyrion. What once felt like an icy battlefield now showed the first signs of warmth. It wasn’t as if she had curled up to him in her sleep, or caressed him or even touched him by mistake. He knew she would never do anything as such ever to him. But the former tension that had always laid between them was gone. Tyrion had offered Sansa he could sleep in the couch if it pleased her, yet she replied that she would feel safest to have him by her side. They were husband and wife after all, even if there was no love the duty of protection remained. He could also tell she, as him, had not been haunt by any nightmares that night; she didn’t shiver nor sob, unlike she did in King’s Landing.

Tyrion woke up before she did, with the rays of the sun bathing the bed through the opened curtains of his chambers. Or is it their chambers now? Her long locks of auburn shimmered against the light, yet her eyelids remained closed. Her skin glowed with the color of ivory, looking ever so soft upon his eyes that he was almost tempted to run his blunt fingers across it. But he restricted himself to only look at her, the wife who had returned to him. 

He held the memory of the night before much within his mind. Much within his heart. It was all still hard to process and admit. It rejoiced him yet it pained him as well. She used to be so cold and closed to him, and now after a long disappearance, she had come in the spirits of a blazing emotional flame to open herself and ask for his protection once more. Tyrion continued to stare at her unmoved figure. _What will she expect of me now? It was easier when all she wanted from me was to go away. But now, what could she possibly want from me? Does she wish for me to comfort her? To care for her? To love her? No. I certainly can do none of such. I am a monster. Monsters share no love,_ he thought. Unbidden, he recalled her words to him, _You are a good man._

Tyrion shook his head attempting to hush her voice within his mind. He had been hurt, scarred and cursed by the losses of love. Coins of silver… A chain of gold… what could hers possibly be? Sansa’s words made no matter. He was cursed. He had long forgotten the feeling of his own beating heart. There was a darkness within him, and no one could save him from it.

Even so, she had showed him something new. He wouldn’t risk saying what it was, for he has never known its name. He only knew it felt as if that something had covered and empty void that was found upon his chest. As if she could somehow make him feel eager to be alive again. She had even managed to find a way to make tears roll past his eyes. He had not shed a single tear ever since he escaped the Red Keep, not a single one during his unfortunate adventures through Essos. _Do monsters… cry?_

Although he was certain she would be safer away from the living curse he was, Tyrion knew she would not leave. She was as stubborn as her mother, from what he could gather from last night. _She deserves better than a twisted malformed dwarf,_ he thought, _but if she refuses to leave my side then I shall not disappoint._ He pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, his eyes threatening to water. _With all the power my position and small body have, I vow to protect you, Sansa. I cannot love you, for I no longer remember how. But no harm shall come to you before having to face all my might._

Before his emotions reached the better of his head, he moved out of the great bed silently, with much caution in order to not wake her up. He quickly changed into office clothes behind the screen divisor from his room and directed his steps towards the throne room of Dragonstone, where he knew he would find the Mother of Dragons.

And indeed he did, though to his surprise, she was completely alone. Apparently, the Queen was taking a recess from her usual long morning sessions with the people. 

“Tyrion,” Daenerys called from her seat, “I didn’t expect to see you before our meeting tonight. To what do I owe your presence?”

“Your Grace,” he said with a slight bow of his head, “I have… news for you.”

Dany frowned, “has there been an urgent update from my war?”

Tyrion shook his head. “No, Your Grace, none of that. It is… do you recall when I mentioned you about my lady wife?”

“Indeed. Lady Sansa of House Stark. You said she had disappeared after the death of the Usurper’s firstborn. That you hadn’t the slightest idea about her whereabouts.”

He began fidgeting his fingers behind back. “Yes, well, she… she was rescued from her captors in the Vale of Arryn. After being deceived of being taken back home, Lord Petyr Baelish took her hostage behind the gates of the Eyrie. With help, she managed to escape, and came back to the only place she could feel safe. By my side.”

“But you told me yours was a sham marriage.”

“It was. It is.” Tyrion attempted to clear the confusion of his thoughts with another shake of his head, “What matters is that I made a vow to protect her when we married under the sight of the seven gods. I intend to keep that vow.” he said firmly.

“Yet she is the daughter of a traitor. Her father, Lord Eddard Stark, helped Robert Baratheon end my father’s reign. The Usurper’s dog, my brother called him.”

“And so he called my father,” he said with defiant eyes, “and look where I now stand.”

Daenerys stared at him for a long while and then sighed, “Very well, Lord Tyrion, your wife may remain here under your protection.”

Tyrion let out a large relieving breath. His eyes widened as a new idea crossed by his head. “Oh and, Your Grace, after long treacherous travelings my wife is in need of… new clothes. Do you think you could aid me in offering her proper gowns to wear?”

“I shall see my servants attend to that. Now go, my Hand, for I have more pressing businesses to attend to.” As Tyrion was making his way out of the throne room he was stopped by her. “And, Tyrion. You are to bring Sansa for tonight’s war plan meeting. That would be all.”

Tyrion did not return to his chambers after his reunion with the Queen. Instead, he stumbled upon the Hound who was rightfully claiming his reward. He truthfully told him he had no gold as he was an exile from the Lannisters, but he instead gave him a position as a knight from the Targaryen army who could lead a division of military forces teaching the Unsullied and Dothraki the ways of war in Westeros.

“I ain’t no bloody knight.” Clegane had replied, but accepted the position regardless.

Hours rolled by the day and in no time the War Plan meeting had arrived within the Chamber of the Painted Table. When Tyrion entered, Daenerys was in her usual high seat, Ser Jorah standing by her left side. Ser Barristan the Bold, Grey Worm and Missandei of Naath were gathered around the map too. Almost immediately, Sansa entered the room escorted by two Unsullied guards.

She looked astonishing in her newly sewed turquoise gown, a color that highlighted the hue from her deep Tully blue eyes. She looked like a grown woman, but not because of the new slim figure and curves she had developed, but because of the experience her eyes held. She certainly was a child no longer. Sansa found herself across Tyrion.

Ser Jorah, dutiful as always, began the meeting with minor updates of the current war. They discussed a vast range of long, dulling topics until they reached the one about the North.”

“Rickon of House Stark has been named Lord of Winterfell and bent his kneel to the false King Stannis Baratheon.”

Tyrion observed how Sansa’s eyes watered and widened immediately after hearing the news. He couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight. There was still hope for her and her dreams. _As there is none for you, dwarf._

“Then Lord Rickon is a traitor as well as all the houses who follow him. We shall march towards Winterfell and end Stannis once and for all. And all the traitors shall be shown no mercy.”

Sansa’s head turned abruptly towards the Queen, her mouth hung open in shock and her brows knit together. _Please don’t, Sansa,_ Tyrion thought, _please don’t provoke her._ His wife regained her courteous posture and spoke.

“Your Grace,” she said, as firmly as he had never heard her speak, “I do not think ending Rickon Stark’s life would give you power over the Kingdom.”

“Why?” Daenerys asked, “Because he is your brother, Lady _Stark_.”

“Because the North remembers.” Sansa replied softly, yet with her eyes holding a threat. “My land is different from the other six. We are loyal to those who are loyal to us. But if you execute a six year old child who has been probably threatened to vouch for Stannis, then you will not gain the favor of the people. I have heard captivating stories about you, Your Grace. You are one to free slaves and save cities from corruption. Do not prove yourself wrong in this battle. Show them how yours is the true side, the true crown, by showing mercy.”

Dany seemed moved by her words, but kept her position firm. “And why should I listen to you, Lady Sansa?”

“Because…” she replied lowering her eyelids for a little while before returning them to the Queen’s lilac eyes, “Because through me, you can win the forces of the Vale and, most likely, the Riverlands too. I know I am nothing more than a Lady, but I am certain I can… lead these forces. Or at least bring them under your command.”

“Very well.” the Queen said satisfied, moving on to the next topic in question. _Has the Wolf just tamed the Dragon?_ Tyrion thought in perplexity as he stared at Sansa. She looked inspiring as she stood in her position, head held high and her face filled with seriousness. The eloquence of her words had surprised him so that the hairs on the back of his neck shivered. He had always known she was smarter than she let on. He felt… proud. Proud of his lady wife. She had in fact grown so much. Sansa then spotted him looking at her, the corner of her lips curving slightly upwards at his sight.

They didn’t speak a single word on the way back to his chambers. Their chambers. Tyrion took a bath while she remained within the room. When he came out of the bathtub and dressed, he found Sansa brushing her long auburn hair on her vanity. The scent of her lemon balms filling the atmosphere. He saw her shivering and moving along with trembling fingers. _She is still with her nerves on the edge from the meeting,_ he thought. Unsure of what to do, Tyrion approached her with careful steps and took her hand looking deep into her eyes.

“We _are_ going to take your home back.” he said squeezing her hand softly. 

He could’ve sworn he saw her smile to him, but he couldn’t tell for certain as he turned away quickly to bed before seeing her reaction.


	18. ARYA II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all rights to grrm for asoiaf

During her time journeying with the Hound, Arya had heard countless of whispers from travelers. Rumors that were being spread from mouth to mouth along the roads of Westeros. Among those, were of course the ones about the Red Wedding. Some spoke about how Lady Catelyn Stark’s throat had been cut to the bone from ear to ear. How she lost her senses after witnessing her firstborn son die before her eyes, scratching her face with her own fingernails making tears of blood. And how her body was thrown into a river in whole mockery of the Tully funeral processions.

Now, in front of her, stood a woman that seemed more a corpse than human. A slit throat, red scars on her cheeks and skin weathered by water. The depth of her eyes had faded, but the Tully blue was still there. The woman was without a doubt her mother. 

Arya stood with a puzzled look upon Lady Catelyn. At first, the figure seemed angry at her. But then, as if she had recognized her, her mother’s eyes grew glassy and threw her bony arms around her, pressing her with shaky strength against her body. She smelled like the rotting corpses she had seen in Harrenhal, but a hint of her familiar scent had remained. Against every odd, she had reunited with her mother. Arya felt tears of her own roll down her eyes.

Her tears transformed into heavy sobs as she clinged tightly around Catelyn. She was never one to cry, but to have the comfort of her mother back after she had thought to have lost it forever was beyond any price. Arya then rose her eyelids to see her and couldn’t help but smile widely.  _ She was dead and now she is back to life. Back to me. She is still my mother somewhere beneath her puddled skin. She cries and feels.  _

Cat looked over the dining hall at all the fallen Freys and then back to her daughter. Covering her slit throat with both of her pale hands she attempted to voice some words, but only raspy whispers were emitted. Arya frowned as she tried to decipher what she was trying to tell her, but she could not make anything out of it. Luckily, one of the men from the outlaw group spoke. She recognized him. Thoros of Myr.

“M’lady Arya,” he said, “Lady Stoneheart says she is more than content to see you. That she couldn’t be more proud of you as it seems you have not forgotten those who have harmed the Stark family. But there are more who have debts to pay, particularly one who is known for always paying them.”

Thoros smiled mischievously as her mother continued to mouth more words with much effort.

“She says you may join us,” he continued to interpret, “that she would rather have you by her side as we travel. A big woman, Brienne of Tarth, has already been sent to end Jaime Lannister’s life, but her loyalties are suspicious. We must leave the Riverlands as we have heard your uncle, the Blackfish, is coming with forces from the Vale to take Riverrun back from the Lannisters. Your mother wants you to come with us and assure that Jaime and Brienne have nowhere to run from her vengeance before winter comes.”

Arya looked at Thoros with wide eyes and then to her mother. If it was revenge her mother desired, she was asking the most suitable of her children for it.  _ Not that she has any children left. They have all taken my family away from me. But I am not alone anymore, for she is back with me. _

“Alright then,” she said, “I’ll go.”

She camped with the Brotherhood that night outside the Twins. After sharing more moments with her mother, she drifted off to sleep besides the fire with a tune in her lips. A prayer.

_ Cersei. Ilyn Payne. The Mountain. Dunsen. Meryn Trant.  _ She blinked a couple of times at the flames.  _ Brienne of Tarth. The Kingslayer. _ _ _


	19. JON II

The King had not been true to his word. He had promised his aid if Jon fought for his crown, but wasn’t willing to fulfill his side of the accord. Stannis was far too concerned fighting his own war for the Iron Throne to mind the war for the survival of humanity. 

“We have heard rumors saying the Targaryen girl will march towards Winterfell any time now, Jon Snow.” he had said, “What would you have me do? I have to prepare my forces for a battle we are not ready to fight.”

“Then, if you cannot even be true to your word how can you be worthy of a crown,  _ Lord  _ Stannis?”

Although the King was not known for being easily intimidated, what Jon said seemed to have moved him. 

“Very well,  _ Snow _ .” he had replied, “I cannot provide you with any of my men but you shall take a portion of our battle supplies north to the wall, to ready your men as much as you can.”

And so, Jon was now preparing his party to journey back to Castle Black. He found little Rickon nearby and approached to him, his chest swelling up with many emotions as he saw the youngest of his siblings being put into a complicated position at such young age.

“I am going for now, little brother.” Jon said kneeling, messing up Rickon’s hair making him smile, “But I will return to you, alright? I shall come back because wolves do not fare well alone during the winter.”

He nodded. “We must protect ourselves. Look after one another.” he said with a small yet proud voice. They were indeed true born sons of Eddard Stark. “I will be waiting for you, brother. Please come back to me.”

“I will.” Both Jon and Rickon’s eyes watered then, as they embraced into the warmest of hugs. Jon kissed his brother’s forehead before departing. Even Ghost bid his goodbyes to Shaggydog. 

Davos the Onion Knight had volunteered to join Jon on his travel north. He said he had his own reasons for distrusting the King, but never spoke about any of them. He only held a wooden toy stag on his hands throughout the entire journey, cherishing it as if it were a bag of golden dragon coins.

When they reached the Wall, Jon was greeted with the surprise that Samwell Tarly had returned. His dearest friend now wore the heavy chains of a Maester about his neck. Sadly, he delivered the news about Maester Aemon’s death. But he also had some pressing inquiries.

“Tell me, Jon,” Sam asked, “what do you know… about your mother?”

Jon frowned in surprise of being asked such question, “I… not much. Not a thing at all, actually. My father had promised me to tell me about her the next time we would see each other but well…”

Sam nodded nervously as he always did, “Well I might-”

But he was interrupted by a steward from the Night’s Watch who hurriedly approached them both.

“Lord Commander,” the steward said to Jon, “there is a message for you.”

“I am not Lord Commander anymore.” he replied taking the parchment regardless. It had no sigil, no signature. Only a sentence.

_ Lord Rickon Stark was offered as a sacrifice to the Lord of Light by King Stannis Baratheon. _

Jon felt tears of sorrow fall from his eyes. Tears that never froze upon the winter cold of the Wall as they turned into rage. He tugged the message underneath his furs and turned to Tormund Giantsbane, leader of the free-folk, with eyes of fire.

“I need your men to accompany me into battle once more.”


	20. SANSA III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trial inspired by HBO's GoT  
> disclaimer from asoiaf

“I won’t let you go back there alone.” Tyrion said.

The march towards Winterfell was getting closer by the hour, and Sansa had promised Queen Daenerys an army from the Vale. If she wanted the help from the forces of Arryn, she had to claim it. And in order to claim it, she needed to deal with the Lord Protector, Littlefinger.

“Tyrion, this is something I must do for myself. I _have_ to go alone.” she said.

“But what if this is a trick?” he asked beginning to anxiously pace around their chambers, “What if he’s just playing games with you? I can’t risk him hurting you again, Sansa.”

“They have assured me he is imprisoned, he won’t be able to even touch me”

“They, They, who is they?!” Tyrion asked impatiently, yet Sansa remained calm. 

“Lord Nestor Royce has sent word to me through raven. He has remained guarding the Eyrie while the forces of the Vale are aiding the Riverlands to combat the Lannister forces. He says Littlefinger remains shackled within a sky cell, waiting for my orders.”

“And what will you do to him?” he asked narrowing his eyes at her.

“I…” she glanced about the room nervously, a shiver running through her bones, “I shall make my decision once I arrive to the castle.”

Tyrion stared at her for a while before shaking his head abruptly. “No. I am coming with you. And I will kill that damned mockingbird with my own hands if it need be. Or maybe he would fancy a crossbow bolt upon his heart too.”

“Tyrion, pleas-”

“No, Sansa! You have just returned to me and the idea of possibly losing you again haunts me. I know we don’t talk much, I know this is not your ideal of a marriage… I know you don’t want me. But you came back asking for my protection and I am offering it to you. Ever since you are here I have… I have for the first time felt as if I were not alone. I can’t have you gone. I _can’t_ survive losing someone else.” He sighed, then, lowering his eyelids to his feet.

Petyr had taught her the art of reading people’s minds and intentions through their faces, and she had learned the skills exceptionally. But Tyrion was different. She never had the slightest idea on what he might say next, what he was thinking, what he was feeling. We was a book that was sealed closed and she didn’t know how to open it. Some days, he was silent as a rock. The next, he was surprising her at every word. Sansa felt deeply moved by how insistent he was being. _Do I really not… want him?_

She knelt to match his height and seeked his eyes. The mismatched pair always held a queer fascination to her, yet the black one no longer looked evil. She took both of his hands and squeezed them. “I appreciate your concern, Tyrion. I truly do. But you have to understand, you have to stand on my shoes. You can’t come with me, you are Hand of the Queen, you must remain by her side. I _must_ go there alone.”

Tyrion’s eyebrows arched with sadness as he looked at her, finally giving up with a heavy sigh. “I am sending a party of soldiers with you. We will leave for Winterfell while you are there. We will rejoin in the Crossroads, I shall wait for you there with the Queen and her army. But take my men, at least accept that protection from me.”

And she did. A short time after her conversation with her husband she departed towards the Vale accompanied the Hound and other seven soldiers from the division he was currently leading. Sandor was never a man who cherished the life of leading people, he never particularly cared for anyone but his bitter self. Yet she was glad to see him finally embracing the true knight he was. 

In no time, they reached the Bloody Gate, and sooner after that they were entering the main hall of the Eyrie. Lord Nestor was there waiting for them. Wasting no second, Sansa ordered for Littlefinger to be brought to her to begin with his trial. She sat upon the high seat of the castle, the lords of the Vale around her. Petyr then appeared with shackled hands, escorted by two robust guards who placed him before the closed Moon Door. His hair looked unmaintained and his pointy beard had lost its shape forming a mess of hair around his chin. Despite his position, he was grinning mischievously at her. With her head held as high as honor, she didn’t even flinch.

“Lord Baelish,” she said breaking the silence of the room as her words echoed through the halls, “you stand on trial for your crimes against the law-”

“And you won’t speak about those crimes,” he interrupted, “Won’t you, my sweet daughter?”

“I am _not_ your daughter.” she said with a frigid tone of voice that took Baelish aback, “I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell, daughter of Lord Eddard and Catelyn Stark. You are accused for the murder of King Joffrey Baratheon, first of his name. The murder of Lysa Arryn, Lady Protector of the Vale. The intention of murdering of Lord Robert and for the manipulation of the Lords of the Vale which allowed you to take power over the Eyrie.”

Littlefinger glanced around him with worried eyes, as if only now realizing the path he has been embarked on. He then turned to Sansa, a pleading look on his face. “I did it to protect you. You know I did. I saved you from the Lannisters. I shielded you from every threat. I taught you how to play the game. I even offered you power.”

“You did it to take control over my claim. That was why you cared for me, for my claim. You saved me from the Lannisters? How is it, then, that I am safest now with one of them? You might have shielded me from others, but never from yourself. You took my name, my claim and my dreams and left me nothing but a bastard name. You almost broke my soul, but I managed to fly free from my cage using the claws of a wolf. Now comes the time for you to face your own crimes.”

“I have the right to defend myself.” he said looking desperately at all the lords and knights present in the room, “I demand a champion!”

Yet the room remained silent for the longest while. Lord Nestor Royce then stepped up next to Sansa. “You have no one to combat for your name, Lord Baelish. The decision is now of the Lady Protector of the Vale to make.”

She turned in surprise at Lord Royce, seeing the approval of her new title from the lords and ladies by her side. She then returned her gaze to Littlefinger with fierce eyes. He dropped to his knees for his last stand.

“Sansa, please, have mercy.” He cried, “I loved your mother since the time I was a boy.”

“And yet you dishonored her memory.” she replied.

“I loved you, you must believe me, I truly did.”

“And yet you betrayed me.” She stood up and made her way down the stairs of the hall. “Thank you for your many lessons, Lord Baelish, I won’t ever forget them.”

With a motion of her head, she ordered the guards to place Littlefinger upon the Moon Door. His knees weak as water. _The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,_ she overheard her father telling her brothers once. She wrapped her hands around the stone lever, pulling it towards her. The doors swung open, and the Mockingbird flew into the air. _Now, he shall whisper songs no more._


	21. TYRION VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im still not grrm, I own nothing

They had been camping near the crossroads for two days now. Daenerys was growing more insistent by the minute, bombarding Tyrion with questions regarding Sansa’s whereabouts. She said his wife was delaying her attack and even suggested she might have ran away. Although he wouldn’t have been surprised by the possibility, he knew how strong was the honor that ran through Sansa’s veins.

“Give her just some time more, Your Grace,” he had said to the Queen, “I told her to meet us here. She will come.”

He tried to busy his mind supervising the Targaryen army, as was his duty as Hand of the Queen. The sunset was beginning to set on the skyline, making the military camp shine in a rosy tone against the light. He found a group Dothraki sharpening their crescent-moon blades around a fire, some Unsullied practicing their fighting skills solemnly as usual, and other soldiers filling wagons with food and supplies. Although he tried to emanate an intimidating posture, his anxious paces gave away how nervous he was.  _ What if she did escape away? I wouldn’t blame her. She might have realized I was not the best of her options… _

The sound of a horn and the stomps of horse hooves tore his mind from having any further thoughts. Through an open field entered a vast amount of soldiers, all mounted on horses. Queen Daenerys came out of her royal tent to find the source of the sounds and her troops stood all readied with their weapons on hand. The incoming army carried the banners of House Arryn, House Tully and one single grey banner leading the entire force. A dire-wolf was displayed on its middle, and Sansa Stark stood behind it.

Tyrion stared at her image in utter admiration, his mouth hung open crooking a shy smile. The Hound, the Blackfish and the Lords of the Vale were beside her, but none of them emitted the power she did. She looked regal with her auburn hair falling from one side braided in northern style, shimmering under the orange sunlight. Her furs danced along the winter breeze as she approached the camp. She resembled the portrait of a queen. Even the Mother of Dragons seemed intimidated by her appearance. Sansa stepped down from her horse next to Tyrion, courteous as ever.

Without a word, he escorted her to their tent. She entered in hurried steps quickly holding from a table inside, as if finding the balance her body couldn’t provide. Tyrion frowned with worry as he heard her begin to sob. She approached to her slowly, noticing that she had been holding a river of tears during her time away.

“I did it.” she said with glassy eyes and a shaky tone, “I am a monster, am I not? I did it.”

“Sansa, what did you do?” he replied.

“He pleaded for mercy and instead I pulled the lever. I sent him down the Moon Door. I  _ killed  _ him.” she said, her voice breaking at the end of the sentence as her cries increased.

Now realizing of whom she was speaking of, Tyrion grabbed her by her hands and squeezed them with reassurance. “If you wouldn’t have done it I would have traveled to the Eyrie as fast as my small legs could carry me and shoved the bastard off myself.” he said.

She only shook her head in denial, “It was miserable. It was the kind of thing Cersei would’ve done.” She fell down to her knees as even more tears rolled from her deep Tully blue eyes. She looked straight at him, not shivering with disgust as she had always done a long time ago. “Tyrion, I don’t want to become her.”

He cupped her face with both of his hands, holding her head high up to him. “Sansa Stark,” he said with a firm voice, “you and I both know what Cersei is. We have been victims of her torments and cruel heart. You will have to make difficult decisions during your lifetime, but that doesn’t prove them evil. You brought justice to yourself and to the world by ridding off Littlefinger. He was vile whereas you are honorable. You are no monster. You are not like my sister. You are not like me.”

Her eyebrows arched making her eyes narrow and grow more glassy. “Why are you always so kind to me?” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

He rubbed his thumb softly against her cheek, delicately wiping off a tear. “Because you are mine to protect.” The words escaped from his mouth before he could think of a witty response to say. He wondered what was the feeling that was devouring his breath upon his chest.

She then wrapped her long arms behind his back and placed her head between his neck and shoulder, her body shaking as she let out the last of her cries. Tyrion moved a hand to the back of her neck while the other caressed her hair, as his mind drifted to be lost in thoughts. 

_ I am a twisted gargoyle. No one has ever wanted me for anything past my coin. I had thought I knew how to love. But both of them left me. Silver coins on the floor, a chain of gold. No one has ever wanted me for anything… Then why do I now have her, kneeling willingly to me, breaking into tears and sharing her fears for me to soothe them? And why am I embracing her? Have I not learned that caring for others only wounds me more? I cannot bear more scars… yet, even so… Why do I long to have her this close and more? _

Closing his eyes in attempt to restrict his tears from falling, Tyrion buried his head in Sansa’s hair. He breathed in her scent of lemon as if trying to emblem the memory of it within his mind. They remained wrapped in each other’s arms until her sobs stopped and she could finally stand back on her feet.

The journey to Winterfell was shorter than expected, but what surprised Tyrion the most was finding Sansa sitting very next to him in their carriage. She had never done that before. Back in King’s Landing, she usually sat across him with her head pointed at the window, avoiding the merest sight of his presence placing a wall of ice between them. Even though now they seldom touched, talking seemed to be an easier and more frequent habit they were building up. She told him tales and memories of Winterfell while him about Casterly Rock and his time bonding with Jaime or japing Cersei.

Despite how painful recalling her family seemed to be, Tyrion managed to make her laugh at every each one of his jokes and stories. He turned to her and stared in perplexity at how she giggled. His face softened and his mismatched eyes tendered.  _ I have made Sansa Stark smile,  _ he thought,  _ and it is the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. _

Once they reached the outfields of Winterfell, Dany ordered her troops to stop and camp there. She also summoned both Tyrion and Sansa to a War Plan meeting. The usual counselors from the Dragon Queen were gathered around the table, as well as the Hound and Lord Nestor Royce who was to lead the forces of the Vale in Sansa’s name. The Blackfish was present too. Apparently, the siege of Riverrun was a simple task for his forces with the Freys gone. The old man had recovered his ancestral home and left his nephew, Edmure Tully, sitting on its high seat.

The meeting was thankfully short and concluded with the decision of marching towards the castle at first light. Because the odds of the battle were on their favor, the Queen had agreed for Tyrion to be permitted to have a place on the battlefield. His chest swelled with pride as he felt useful to take a part in the fight along the strong and tall knights and soldiers, but he couldn’t ignore the worrying warning look Sansa gave him.

Night fell rapidly over the camp veiling the skies with stars as the half-moon shone bright upon the land. The soldiers all retreated to sleep with such calm that no one could tell they were going to march off to battle on the morrow. After drinking a couple cups of Red Dornish wine, Tyrion changed into his night shift as Sansa applied balm to her lips and brushed her hair.  _ Some habits never seem to change within a lady, regardless of all she has been through. _

There was a queer uneasiness around her, though. As if she was trying to say something but the words wouldn’t risk escaping her mouth. Her movements were uncertain and she was glancing about the room nervously. He inspected her closely, yet she never shared a word and retreated to their bed silently.

Tyrion joined her shortly after blowing all the candles out. She seemed to be sound asleep, but dreams refused to claim him too. He remained awake not because of the battle he was to be part of in the few hours to come, but due to the troubling thoughts about his wife.  _ Maybe she’s behaving like this because she wants to be free of me, now that she will return home. What did you expect, dwarf? _

Suddenly, he felt the mattress shifting as Sansa moved from her position to look at him, her eyes somehow glowing in the midst of the darkness of their tent. She lifted half of her body relaying her forearm on the bed. Tyrion rose his head a little to see her better. There was fear within her look, yet also a determination like no other.

“I don’t want you to go.” she said finally breaking the deafening silence that had fell around them.

He frowned at her in awe, unable to believe the song his ears were hearing. “Sansa, I-”

“Tyrion, I don’t want you to be there.” she interrupted insistently, “I know you feel that you need to prove yourself to others. I know you don’t want to be left out of a fight… but you are not a man who wields weapons. You read books and counsel leaders and make jokes at every opportunity you have. If something is to happen to you I…” she hesitated for a while and then sighed. “I would not have anyone left to protect me.”

Tyrion sensed that wasn’t what she was trying to tell him and straightened his position on the bed to stand a little taller.  _ Is she truly worrying for my safety? _ “You have the entire forces of the Vale under your command, Sansa. And your uncle to care for you. What is it that you fear?”

She stared at him with widened eyes before shaking her head slightly. “It makes no matter. What if something bad happens to you? What if you are mortally wounded? The last battle you participated on you almost were scarred to death.”

“My lady,” he said, “I do appreciate your concern but that wasn’t the last battle I fought on. I am proud to say I took part fighting for the Great City of Meereen from a siege, although I was knocked unconscious for three days.” he intended his words to sound as a jape, but the memory of what he saw during his blackout sent shivers down the back of his neck.

Sansa grew even more worried at his notion and Tyrion had to soften his eyes to give her calm. He wanted to reach her and comfort her, but he was too scared to do so. Scared of being rejected. She was so close to him, yet far all together. Giving up on what to do, he threw his body back down to the bed.

“You need not to worry, Sansa. Stannis stands no chance against us. With the Dothraki and Unsullied forces, the armies of the Vale of Arryn and Riverrun and three full grown dragons by our side, there is nothing to fear. And if you are worried for my safety, Ser Jorah Mormont has vouched to remain fighting by my side. The man has saved me more than once, I have no doubt he will let any harm come to me. Queen Daenerys will be fighting too, on Drogon’s back.”

She looked over to the distance and then back to him. “I don’t fully trust her.” she said in a low voice.

Tyrion sighed, “I can’t say I completely do either. But she has proven herself to be worthy of a crown. She might have a cold behavior, but she is a good person.”

Sansa seemed to relax at his words. As soon as he closed his eyes with tiredness, he opened them widely as he felt her placing her head under his shoulder and a hand against his chest. Her body felt stiff, yet he couldn’t prevent his breath from hitching. She was definitely the most unpredictable woman he had ever met.

“Promise me,” she said, “promise me you will care for yourself, Tyrion. I can’t lose another member of my family.”

Tears threatened to dwell upon his eyes.  _ How is it that she can make me feel I belong somewhere? How is it that my bitter malformed soul feels human by her side?  _ he placed a hand above her head and ran his fingers down her long locks of auburn hair. “I promise.”

Morning was announced by the blow of a horn as the first sun rays of dusk rose from the horizon shining against the white snows. Sansa helped Tyrion into his armor in complete silence, kneeling down to match his height. She had a firm look on her face, yet her trembling fingers gave away how nervous she was.

Once he was ready to go, she placed a kiss on his forehead. It was as light as a feather and quick as a breeze that he wondered if it truly happened. Nonetheless, a rush of blood was sent to his head.

“You come back to me.” she said looking into his eyes before turning away.

Tyrion went off to battle with light feet, feeling like the strongest soldier amongst them all.


	22. BRIENNE I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to asoiaf and HBO's GoT

Every time they approached one step closer to where the rumors said the Dragon Queen was, her army marched further away from them. Brienne’s legs felt numb after travelling on foot for a thousand leagues and her back ached by the weight of her heavy armor. Jaime Lannister was keeping up as best as he could, attempting to let his companions see how easy rough roads were for him. But Brienne could tell he was struggling too, and didn’t blame him.

At least he was managing far better than Podrick Payne. The poor boy who had been assigned as her squire could barely cope with his own paces on dry land let alone now on the snow. She was about to scold him on walking so slow when she noticed again the purple bruises he had around his neck. A pang of guilt ran through her, but she cleared it off with a shake of her head. Both men’s beards had grown large and irregular giving them the looks of bandits and they all were dreadfully exhausted and in urgent need of a bath.

“If we keep walking this way north, we will soon be facing the Wall itself.” Jaime said clearly annoyed by Brienne’s idea of escaping.

“Be silent, Ser Jaime.” she replied.

“Ah, why do I feel like your prisoner again?” he said with a sigh, “But well, I shall do as my lady of Tarth commands.” 

Brienne rolled her eyes at that, yet turning her back at him she couldn’t stop a slight smile. There was something different about the way Jaime wore the Lannister colors of his armor. She could see a sense of pride from him. Pride not in his name, but in himself. But there was shame too. Shame in being one of them, shame of now having to run away.

After an eternal amount of time, they reached the outfields of an enormous castle, which Brienne assumed to be Winterfell. There was a battle unfolding before it. From one of the sides, she could see the banners of House Arryn and Tully under a bigger one of House Targaryen. They have finally reached her. Her eye was caught at the sight of the banner  of a crowned stag enclosed by a flaming. Every fiber of her body, then, flamed with rage.

“We are joining the fight.” she said firmly gritting through her teeth. Before she could be stopped by Jaime and Pod’s startled looks, she stepped into the battlefield.

Stannis’ forces were outnumbered and weakened. The northern houses didn’t seem to be fighting alongside him. As if his troops needed any more enemies than it already had, an army of wildlings led by a young man on a horse entered the fight in a majestic mean. He swung his sword with swift movements, destroying any foe who crossed his path. Brienne inspected him for a while. She couldn’t identify his name, but if she was to be honest, for a moment she thought she was looking at the image of a king.

The battle moved forward and Brienne didn’t seem to keep track of where her steps were taking her, only minding about the movements of her valyrian steel sword. As the dragons flew and roared through the winter skies, she suddenly found herself on the outskirts of a forest, where she only found fallen dead soldiers from the army of the man who killed her true King. All of a sudden, one of them moved. Brienne turned to him. He was alive, though gravely wounded. She needn’t have a second look at him, his face was the same as the Shadow’s. Before her, laid Stannis Baratheon.

He rose his gaze up to her, eyes narrowed with the pain of his wounds, “Does the Targaryen have women fighting for her too? Dragons in Westeros were more real than girls wielding swords.”

“I don’t fight for the Targaryen,” she replied, “I am Brienne of Tarth. I was a member of the Kingsguard to Renly Baratheon.” His eyes widened as she stared at him coldly. “I was there when he was murdered by a shadow with your face.” Tears unwillingly formed up about her eyes. “You murdered him, with blood magic.”

He lowered his eyelids and breathed out a heavy sigh. “I did.”

_ What a frigid man.  _ She stepped closer to him and held Oathkeeper high above her shoulders. “In the name of King Renly of House Baratheon, first of his name, rightful king of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Brienne of Tarth, sentence you to die. Do you have any last words?”

Stannis closed his eyes, “Go on then, do your duty.”

And so, with the swing of her sword, she avenged the life of the first man she ever loved, who wouldn’t be the last.

  
When she returned to the open field, the battle had finally ceased. One of the dragons swooped down from the clouds to the land and the Targaryen Queen stepped down from it. With her graceful silver blonde hair and radiant lilac eyes, she walked not noticing a soldier that had stepped up from the ground and was charging at her from behind. With the last of his strengths, he readied his strike, but never managed to fulfill it. Jaime Lannister, who seemed to appear out of nowhere, pierced his sword through his plate armor. A breath was caught upon Brienne’s throat. The man who had killed his king with a sword on his back has now saved the Queen’s.


	23. SANSA IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References from Asoiaf and GoT

From the far distance, she could see the ending of the battle where she stood. Her breath was held tight at the thought of reuniting to her little brother Rickon, and even tighter for the return of a certain dwarf. When the troops finally made their way back to the camp, Sansa was the first to stand up and await for them. She should be feeling overjoyed at the fact that her home has been avenged. That she, although wasn’t on the battlefield, was the leader of some of the forces who were. Instead, all she felt was boundless worry. And fear.

Soldiers of the Dothraki, Unsullied, Riverlands, Vale… all were making their way back to camp victorious and in full glee. Her fingers and knees trembled with uneasiness, she couldn’t spot him anywhere. Her vision began to blur, was it because of the tears that were forming up or because her head was growing dizzy as her heart stopped from beating?

She didn’t know the name of the feeling that was swelling up her chest at every thought of losing him… or maybe she did know, only wasn’t ready to admit it just yet. 

And then, through the crowd of thousands, her little husband appeared. He had nothing more than a few scratches and splattered blood along his armor and face. He was alive, and he had returned to her. Sansa felt her breath hitch and her eyes grow glassy in a mixture of pride and relief. Without thinking much, without minding whoever was seeing her, she ran past all the other soldiers until she reached Tyrion. Kneeling down in a way their heads were on the same level, she embraced him in a strong hug that was tender all the same. A hug that let her longing be known. He groaned at the contact of a wound she must have pressed, but quickly reciprocated her action. He held her ever so dearly as she began to sob. 

Sansa was surprised of her own self. She had not been a person who is in need of another’s comfort for a long time now. Ever since her father was executed, she had learned to survive on her own behind her walls.  _ But now, to have him here with me, to have a family again… it feels so right… Lannister or not, he feels safe. He feels like… home. _

Tyrion lifted her head with one of his hands under her jaw. He wiped some of the tears from hr cheek with his thumb, making it turn softly pink. She doubted it was due to the winter cold, for her body felt as warm as a fireplace.

“Sansa,” he said looking at her gently, straight into her eyes. He smiled making her pulse rise up to her throat, “I’m here.” He hesitantly rested his forehead against hers and caressed the back of her head with his free hand.”I’m here.”

_ What was that?  _ she asked herself,  _ That glow around his eyes? Were mine shining too? _

Lingering in his arms, she couldn’t remember a time when her heart was leaping this high.

Winterfell was almost exactly as she remembered. The reconstruction of it after being put to the torch had apparently been carefully handled. If anyone was new to the castle, they wouldn’t have noticed that a catastrophe had happened there not too long ago. The Targaryen Queen and her forces settled there and wasting no sole minute, she ordered a feast to happen in the Great Hall at nightfall. As soon as the sun began to set, her servants began making the necessary arrangements. 

Sansa was strolling through the battlements, smiling at the feeling of being back to her home at last. Oh how she wished her mother and father were there. When she turned to worriedly look at a party of wildlings that were entering through the gates of the castle, she thought she had seen a specter among them. She was not sure if it was him, he had grown so much. When she had left Winterfell, he was nothing more than a boy, yet she was now seeing a man. Her doubts were cleared as a dire-wolf as white as snow placed itself by his side.

She rapidly stepped down the stairs and rushed towards her half-brother. She stopped on her tracks when she was only half-way to him. Jon, noticing her, stood as stunned as she was. Both of them looking into each other yet unsure of what to do. Sansa never had a determined relationship with Jon. If truth be told, she was often very rough with him as a true daughter of Lady Catelyn Stark. But none of that mattered now. He was the very first person with Stark blood she had seen ever since taken hostage in King’s Landing. He was her family, through and through and she could only run towards his arms in hopes he would one day forgive her.

When they both gathered their senses from the emotion of their reunion, Sansa finally managed to speak.

“I have missed you brother,” she said, “I… I am sorry for… for everything.”

Jon only smiled at her with a hint of melancholy and placed a hand on the back of her head, “There is nothing to forgive, little sister.”

Sansa returned the smile and then glanced around, “Where is Rickon? Have you seen him yet?”

Jon lowered his eyes painfully. A sudden wave of agony ran through her veins. “I did see him. They named him Lord of Winterfell and I was stupid enough to believe he was safe with Stannis.” Tears fell from both of their eyes. “He’s gone, Sansa. And it is my fault.”

She then returned to his embrace and cried, “We could have never known, Jon. We could have never known.”

After a long while conversing with Jon sitting on the battlefields, Tyrion appeared.

“I truly will never understand how you Starks do it, remain under the heavy snows without freezing, but the feast is about to take place and the Queen has asked for the presence of you both.” he said, and with a nod of his head he left, though not without giving a quick, soft glance at Sansa.

Jon turned to her with intrigue, “Is it true? That they forced you into a marriage with him?”

She looked over to the distance, “They forced us both.” she sighed, vapor forming out of her breath as it mingled with the cold. “But he is… Tyrion is not like the other Lannisters. He was always kind to me.”

“But are you happy? Was he… gentle with you?”

“He… he never touched me.”

Jon’s eyes opened as wide as the Trident, “You are telling me he never laid a single finger on you?” she nodded still avoiding his look. Jon breathed out through his nose. “He must care very much for you then.” That got her attention to him. “I know Tyrion. He rode with me north to the Wall. He is a good man, outstandingly clever too. He might even be as tall as a king, I think. But if you say he hasn’t consummated your marriage then an annulment is yet possible to be arranged. Tell me, sister, do you want an end to it?”

Sansa shook her head slightly and looked back to the horizon, the sun had already disappeared. “No,” she said almost as a whisper, “I don’t think I do…” 

To her relief, Jon asked no further questions. He stood up and offered her a hand to stand too. “Very well, then. We shan’t keep the Dragon Queen waiting.”

Winterfell’s Great Hall was filled with such joy, celebration, food and guests that Sansa couldn’t help but be reminded of when King Robert Baratheon came to visit to ask her father to become his Hand. Now, a new monarch sat on the dais. Besides from her, she could spot other familiar faces, such as the Hound, her uncle Brynden and Lord Nestor Royce. But there were two faces which took Sansa aback. The girl had so many bruises and scars along her face it was almost be impossible to recognize who she was, but Sansa would never forget about her dearest childhood friend, Jeyne Poole. Besides her was a man with even more wounds. He was…  _ Oh, he ought to be dead.  _ The presence of Theon Greyjoy made her revulse with such rage that she was about to approach him and wish him the Seven Hells. But the Queen had silenced the room and stood to speak.

“My dearest lords of the North, the Vale and the Riverlands. We stand here victorious only because of your help. You have helped me in battle against the Usurper’s brother, all of you. We have defeated our foe together. But every time an enemy falls, allies arise. I’d like to use your time and attention now to offer my royal pardons to some of the present here, because even though I have come here to conquer what is rightfully mine, I am also a Queen of mercy. Theon Greyjoy, step before me.” 

The young man approached the front of the dais with weak steps, failing miserably to avoid Sansa’s frigid eyes. He looked at Daenerys, “Yes, Your Grace?” his voice sounding nothing like the person Sansa remembered.

“I have been informed that because you spread the truth regarding what Stannis Baratheon did to Lord Rickon of House Stark, the lords of the North rebelled against the false King by not presenting themselves on the battlefield. Due to your help, the odds of the battle were weighted towards our side. For that, I grant you, Theon of House Greyjoy, the lordship over Pyke and the Iron Islands. Had I known you were still alive, I wouldn’t have offered them to your uncle Euron, but they are yours, now and always.”

Theon looked down to his feet, his body trembling. “I… I refuse your grace.” Daenerys’ eyes widened as he rose his gaze. “I am… unfit to fulfill my duties as a lord. But my sister, Asha Greyjoy, is already headed to conquer them back on your name. She is the one who is rightful to inherit your offer”

With a nod from the Queen, he was dismissed. She continued, “Jaime Lannister, step before me.”

Ser Jaime approached with a firm posture and bowed his head, yet he couldn’t hide the fear reflected in his eyes. Sansa noticed Tyrion was holding tightly to his seat, and without looking at him, offered a hand to calm his nerves.

“My brother Viserys used to tell me countless stories about the man who promised to shield our father’s life, and instead, broke his oath and shoved his sword right through his back. The Kingslayer they have named you, if I recall correctly.” Ser Jaime shivered, “Yet now, it was my back you have saved. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be standing here as of right now. For that, I grant you, Jaime of House Lannister, the lordship over Casterly Rock naming you Warden of the West. May you remember which crown you now serve.”

Ser Jaime retreated after kneeling down to his new Queen and Sansa saw how Tyrion finally let out the breath he was holding.

The Dragon Queen continued, “Now, as Lady Protector of the Realm, it is my duty to ensure the safety of each of my Kingdoms. The North is in lack of a leader after the death of Lord Rickon Stark. I shared a word after the battle with Jon Snow, natural son of Lord Eddard Stark, and he allowed me to make the rightful decision.” Daenerys then turned to Sansa sending a chill down her spine, “I hereby declare Sansa of House Stark, to be titled as the new Lady of Winterfell, Wardeness of the North and Protector of the Vale. All the northern houses shall stand behind you and come to your aid if need be.”

The room was veiled under an utter deafening silence. Sansa turned abruptly to Jon who was grinning at her kindly. “Jon…” she said, “you are father’s last living  _ son- _ ”

Jon only shook his head with a smile, “You are his _true born_ daughter, Sansa, the claim is yours.” He then rose his wine high into the air, “To the Lady of Winterfell!”

While every guest joined rising their cups, the lords of the north held their swords up. “To the Lady of Winterfell!” they echoed. All chanting her name, none of them prouder than her husband, who was looking at her with the widest of smiles she had ever seen him give.

During the feast, The Lady of Winterfell silently retreated to the Godswood to pray for the family she had lost and the one she was yet to find. 


	24. JON III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> references from asoiaf and GoT

The people at Winterfell seemed to enjoy the feast as if it was the first of their lives. The people of the North rejoiced to have a Stark and prosperity back to their land. They were so jubilant and entertained that they didn’t even seem to mind the presence of wildlings in the Hall. After all, they fought to recover this ancestral home too. Jon noticed Sansa took her leave and found Tyrion Lannister sitting with the sole company of a wine cup. Jon approached to him.

“Dwarf.” he called grinning.

Tyrion rose his gaze to his only now noticing his presence. “Bastard.” he said, “Or should I now call you brother?”

Jon gave him a wary look and Tyrion chuckled. He then pulled a chair to sit next to him, pouring himself a cup of wine of his own. “I suppose we now are. But, give me a reason to and I will cut what is rest of your face.”

“Wouldn’t you like to hear the story of how I was scarred first?” Lannister said mockingly. He was always a quick one with japes.

Jon gave a small laugh, “Perhaps another time. As for now, I only want thing from you.”

“At your service, Bastard.”

Jon looked straight into his mismatched eyes with gravity. “I need you to promise me that you won’t let any harm come to my sister. I know she thinks she is strong and can cope with the world alone, I’ve seen her doing so ever since we were children when she assumed herself to be superior than the rest of us. She might as well be, but that doesn’t mean she is not in need of someone by her side. Sansa needs someone who can support her, Tyrion. Make sure you do if you are to remain with her.”

He noticed how the Imp’s chest rose up in heavy emotional breaths and supposed he might have touched a nerve of his. “I made a vow under the sight of gods and men to be hers forever and wrapped the cloak of my protection about her shoulders. She might not want me, not as a wife wants her husband, but she has shown to need me. And I won’t let her down.”

“Good.” he replied, “But she does care for you. I don’t know much about her to say if she wants you. But she cares. She might not have realized it yet… but she cares dearly for you.”

Tyrion, unable to hold his gaze, looked over to the sea of guests from the hall, lost in thoughts. Jon would’ve liked very much to remain in conversation with him, the dwarf always had fascinating anecdotes to tell and learn from, but the shadow of a woman across the hall drew his attention.

Excusing himself, Jon walked towards the corridor where she stood and was guided into one of the empty rooms from the castle. There, he found Ser Davos, who had grown to be a very close companion over his last journeys. Next to him, the Red Woman.

“She murdered them,” Davos said angrily gritting through his teeth. “She is responsible for the death of your brother and the one of Princess Shireen of House Baratheon. Both innocent children offered to her damned Lord of Light. I loved that girl as if she were my own!”

Jon stood in utter perplexity starting with blazing rage at her while Melisandre avoided his eyes.

“Jon Snow,” she said shaking, “I made a mistake. I acknowledge it. A terrible mistake… But I can still be help to you. You’ve seen what I can do… I can help you in the true war.”

“I can have my sister order your execution here and now,” he said with a smoky voice, “But it is true we might need your aid when the dead come. Even so, I cannot grant you to be anywhere near my sight. So if you value your life, go. And never return, or I will slit your throat open and throw you to your beloved fires myself.”

The last of his words came as screams. He turned around without looking at her reaction and mourned for his own mistake of letting his little brother stand alone. _Did father not taught us that when a wolf is with no pack he dies?_ Leaning into the wall of the corridor, tears began to fall down his face.


	25. TYRION VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asoiaf stuff is not mine

_ She might not have realized it yet… but she cares dearly for you. _

The words still echoed against his eardrums, lingering within the walls of his mind. They affected Tyrion more than he’d like to admit. Mere words… Yet they meant more than all the gold from Casterly Rock. Why did they mattered so? How was it that words alone boiled his blood pumping it up to his chest? But most importantly, why did he care?  _ Don’t you answer yourself, dwarf,  _ he told himself,  _ you can’t bear to look the truth in the face. You can’t risk that, not again… silver coins and a golden chain… _

Even so, he needed to find her now. He had an urgent, unexplainable feeling to see her again. Perhaps he needed to tell her something, but Tyrion couldn’t remember what. What could he say to her?  _ Gods, planning the Battle of Blackwater was easier than this. _

Unbidden, his feet led him around Winterfell on the look for its new Lady. He found her at last shining under the bright light of the moon in the Godswood, her auburn hair shimmering at the touch. She sat on a log covered by snow, praying solemnly as always. He approached to her slowly, making sure to step on a wooden stick to announce his presence. She quickly turned at the sound and softened her expression once she recognized him. He didn’t fail to notice the tears that shone like icicles against her cheeks. He rapidly reached nearer and wiped them off with his gloved hand before they froze upon her skin. She looked at him the entire time in a way that made his breath stop on his throat. Her eyes held immense sorrow, but also a hint of hope.

“Tyrion,” she said, his name a poem on her lips, “what brings you here?”

He looked deeply into her, his hand still on her cheek. At the level she was seated on, he was slightly taller than her. Focusing on her question, he tried to think of a witty response to give, but nothing came. He reluctantly lowered his head and sighed. “I… don’t know…”

Sansa frowned at him with queer. She must have sensed him tangled in a mixture of thoughts and emotions, for she relieved him from elaborating on his answer by asking him to sit next to her on the free spot from the snowy log. He did as bid, and soon after she placed her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arm around his as if it was the most natural thing. Her breaths were unsteady as she tried to hold back her sobs.

“He was only a child,” she said, “my baby brother. I remember holding him for the first time. He was a joyful boy, never knew any sorrow. He liked to play with my her, to hold him as I sang songs of valiant knights and fair maidens to him. Both unaware of how cruel the world was. Father always brought us here, all of us, to listen to him and pray to his gods. Rickon was too young to understand a thing, yet eager to learn the lessons and words of a Stark. ‘In the winter, we must protect ourselves, look after one another’”, her eyebrows arched with sadness, “How am I supposed to protect my family if they continue to be stripped away from me?” her last words broke in a cry.

Tyrion grabbed her by the back of her neck and placed a kiss on the top of her head, breathing the scent from her hair deeply through his nose and hushed her cries. “Your family is not gone, Sansa. You still have your brother Jon with you. And there is also your sister too. She might be lost, but you cannot give up the hope of her return.”

She found her spot between his neck and his shoulder and buried her face there, “And I have you too.” she said, her words vibrating against his furs.

His breath hitched.  _ She might not have realized it yet… but she cares dearly for you.  _ Tears dwelled upon his eyes for the only woman who has worried past his coin. He held her tightly against his small body and rested his chin above her earlobe. “And you have me too. Now and forever.”

Her breast rose against his making Tyrion wonder if she was going through the same swarm of emotions that were dwelling up his chest. He grew bold at having her willingly holding on to him, as no one had ever done before. “Sansa… I have to tell something…”

She rose her eyelids to his as he continued. “I… if you find the scars of my body gruesome… you need to know that there are far more within my soul. I am a broken creature, through and through. I have cursed those who ever held me dear, wronged the world by coming to life and murdered my own kin. If I am to protect you, I should order you to stay as far as you possibly may from me. But… I can’t… I don’t ever want you away from me, Sansa. Gods I’m only a selfish little Imp at the end. You deserve better than a monster who wouldn’t let you free-”

He was interrupted as his face was caught between her hands. “Tyrion Lannister. I can’t begin to comprehend how many times I must this to you, but I shall repeat it as much as it is needed to. I don’t care what the rest of them think about you, in my eyes you are no monster. I don’t need for it to be dark any longer to see that you are so much more than a Knight of Flowers. I am not a prisoner anymore. I am free to make my own decisions and I have chosen to stay by your side because I want you. So stop pitying yourself and embrace who you are.” she said in a tone fiercer than her mother’s.

_ She  _ wants  _ me,  _ he told himself.  _ Will I risk it? Will I risk to give my curses up to her? Will I… will I be able to learn to love again with her?  _ He knew the answers to them all, but was too frightened as to even give a thought about them. Suddenly, he found himself only inches apart from her face. His cowardice gathered courage in the feeling of her warm breath against his beard. He was about to pledge much more than a sacred vow in this kiss, but incoming steps forced the two of them apart.

Tyrion was about to curse the intruders when he noticed his brother entered with Brienne of Tarth.

Jaime cleared his throat noticing he had stepped into the scenery in the worst timing possible. “Forgive me, Lady Sansa, we didn’t mean to… disturb your conversation with my brother, but I needed to seal my promise to your mother. Here with me is Lady Brienne of House Tarth. She was a sworn sword to your mother, Lady Catelyn. I made an oath to your mother to return her daughters home. I was not able to fulfill my vow, not entirely, but at least grant me permission to offer you Brienne, the finest and most loyal warrior you will ever meet.”

And so, after a few exchange of words, Brienne knelt before Sansa as she pledged her service to the Lady of Winterfell. The moment was very touching, even for Tyrion. None of them saw the figure that had silently approached Brienne from her back placing a dagger against her throat. A girl no older than two and ten.

“Say a word and I will cut your throat.” the girl said.

Jaime drew his sword and Tyrion placed himself in front of Sansa. From the dark of the woods, a woman appeared. She had the looks of a ragged corpse, with puddled white skin, scars along her cheeks and a completely slit open throat. She couldn’t have been alive… then why was she breathing? Inspecting her closely, Tyrion’s mouth hung open as he recognized her eyes. They were the same as Sansa’s. He now stood in the presence of Lady Catelyn Stark. 


	26. SANSA V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to ASOIAF and GoT

Each of her bones froze upon the winter cold. Her muscles turned to stone and the blood from her veins escaped her being within a breath. The only movement her body willed to make were the tears that danced about the corners of her eyes.

She was watching her, straight into her gaze. It couldn’t have been her. Sansa had received the news on how she and her eldest brother had been butchered on what they now call the Red Wedding. She lacked the fair skin and bright auburn hair she was once known for, yet at the same time… how could she not be her? She wore the same wound the tales told around her throat and the scratches of madness on her cheeks too. And her eyes… how could she ever forget the eyes of her mother when she herself had the same?

_ My mother… _ Sansa thought,  _ She is here with me… I have needed her for so long. To bring me comfort during my greatest sorrows, to bring me counsel when I had needed it the most. To explain me the duties of a lady and the ones of a wife. To give me courage, to give me wisdom, to give me love. Now, she is here with me at last. Nothing else matters. _

A frigid rush of wind brought her back to her senses. As her mother’s eyes tendered when she recognized her, Sansa lost no time in darting towards her embrace. It wasn’t as warm as she remembered, but to have the touch of her mother’s fingers brushing down the locks of her hair compensated everything that was at loss. Her mother looked down at her and caressed her cheek, never ceasing the strokes through her head. In both hers and Sansa’s eyes, unceaseable tears ran down, tears of joy and sadness alike. 

As the girl beside her mother let go of Brienne of Tarth’s throat, Sansa for the first time noticed who she was. She wasn’t much taller than she remembered, though her hair was much shorter. Still, she held the same look of a warrior she always had within her eyes. To her surprise, Arya was the one to run up to her. Two sisters, who once were known for being as different as the sun and the moon, have reunited at last. Leaving their contrasting personalities aside, they hung upon each other’s arms sobbing heavily. Oh how she had missed her, even her fights with her. Sansa kissed her forehead, cheeks and the top of her head multiple times.

“Ew.” was the only response she received from her little sister, who then chuckled and pulled her into an even closer hug.

Sansa noticed how her mother observed them both with a tender look, letting know how overjoyed she was to see her daughters getting along for once. But then, her eyelids lowered and severed as she spotted something. She wondered what she could have seen that filled her eyes with such… anger. As she followed her mother’s gaze, she then understood, and all her blood was rushed abruptly to her head. The hand that Sansa had placed over Arya’s head. The hand that wore the ring of a golden lion with rubies on its top. A  _ Lannister  _ wedding ring.

Her mother quickly backed away from her, earning looks of surprise from everyone of the present. Disgust revolted within her. Arya slowly slipped away from Sansa’s arms.

“You are married to a Lannister,” her mother said with a smoky voice, making a threat in each word she pronounced, “and you are proud to wear their colors.”

“No, mother, I… I am butー”

“You mingle with the Imp and the Kingslayer as if you were one of them. You are just like this traitor,” she interrupted motioning her head towards Lady Brienne, “breaker of oaths. Tell me, daughter, don’t you know these are the people behind the massacre of our house? How could you possibly stand beside a man who has the blood of our family splattered on his hands? Have you no honor?”

“Mother, I swear to you, Lord Tyrion has been nothing but kind to me. He is not like the monsters from his family, if anything, he is the one who has saved me from themー”

“Why would you expect me to believe in your words? The words of a  _ Lannister _ ?” 

The look her mother gave her sent a shiver run down Sansa’s spine making her knees weak and her fingers tremble. She had seen her mother angry at her before, but there was always affection behind her scolds. Now, there was only disappointment, hatred and loath. Sansa wanted to cry in hope that her tears would guide her mother to reason, but everything seemed pointless.  _ Am I really a traitor to my pack? _

“Lady Catelyn,” Tyrion suddenly said stepping protectively in front of her, “what a pleasure it is to meet you again. I see you now bear scars as I do. Scars done by hands under the commands of the Mighty Tywin Lannister. Yes, my lady, could you believe my own father gave order for me to be killed? It is, at the end, not very surprising. After all, I had never been his most favored son. He blamed me for my mother’s death and for my twisted form which has brought utter shame to the sigil of my house. Although we have both suffered by his torment, my lady, I would never compare myself to what he has done to your house. You were all admirably good, the world has never seen a family as united and honorable as the Starks and didn’t deserve to have parted from the world in such way. I, on the other hand, deserved it all. I am nothing but an ugly gargoyle who fuels disappointment alone. My mistakes have proven me dignified of a curse.

But I won’t let your daughter fall into the same categorization where I stand. She is no Lannister, she is a Stark through and through. Fierce and intelligent as yourself, my lady, honorable and brave as her father. I don’t deserve her. I think we can both agree on that, yet she remains my wife. And I made a vow to protect her from any harm, to give my life for her if need be. Hence I beg you my pardons, Lady Catelyn, but I  _ can’t  _ let you damage her image, for Sansa is nothing like the rest of us.”

She had an urgent desire to see his face at that moment. She wanted to see his eyes, the eyes always tell the truth. To see for herself if he meant every word he had said. With his back turned to her, however, she couldn’t see him. But her mother did. She must have seen the earnest in his eyes, for her expression changed, her anger softened. She was looking down to him, tears threatening to swell upon her dead eyes.

“You returned Ned’s bones to me, I remember. And you have kept my daughter safe and sound. The way she so highly spoke of you… Indeed you may not be the man I ever had in mind to take her hand, but you are not unworthy, Tyrion Lannister. You are not my enemy, yet I still have more to avenge.”

Tyrion shook his head slightly, “You don’t have enemies any longer, Lady Catelyn. The Freys are gone as well as the Boltons. I pierced a crossbow bolt through my father’s heart and the cruel King Joffrey was poisoned at his own wedding feast. They are all gone but one, and I would ask you to leave my sister to me, for I have a greater right for that vengeance than you, my lady.”

Her mother glanced around the woods, processing the words she had just heard. She seemed astonished, sad and relieved, all at the same time. Her eyes focused on Tyrion, then on Arya and finally on Sansa.

“I don’t have… enemies any longer…” her mother echoed, a single tear falling into the snow.

A sudden blow of winds of spring pierced through the winter air. Red leaves from the Heart Tree danced along the rush, circling the figure of her mother. Arya went back to Sansa’s embrace, both daughters staring widenly at the captivating scene in front of them. Their mother’s white puddled skin turned alive again, blushing brightly pink along her cheeks, which no longer had the marks of scratches. Her slit throat was sealed closed and a smile was drawn about her lips, lips that as her hair had returned to their natural color too. Raising her head, she laughed into the air, her voice a song resonating throughout the Godswood. Innumerable tears fell from her closed eyes as she whispered words. Words loud enough for Sansa to hear.

“Father, Bran, Rickon, Robb. Ned… I am coming back to you.”

Their names faded into the atmosphere as her mother’s body began to turn into dust, becoming one with the leaves that surrounded her. Leaves from the tree her husband once used to pray to. 

With that, her mother was gone. Her soul finally finding peace in an eternal rest. Her ghost to haunt no more. When Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime took their leave, both Arya and Sansa crumbled to their knees, falling into the snow. They held ever so tightly, panting at the heavy sobs and cries that had formed up their lungs.

After a few minutes, Tyrion helped them back on their feet. Still trembling, Sansa made her way back to Winterfell. Arya excused herself once they reached the castle to look for Jon and wished her sister goodnight, glancing peculiarly at Tyrion. 

When they were approaching her new chambers, which once were the ones of her parents, Sansa realized that she had been holding hands with her husband the entire walk. Her blood flushed up to her cheeks burning as red as her hair. As they entered the room, she made sure to look away from Tyrion to avoid him noticing her, busying herself by removing her furs and ridding the snow from her boots. When she turned back to him, he was staring her with an unreadable look. Sansa couldn’t help but melt into his gaze. Her breath was caught on her chest and her tummy fluttered. She wanted to return to that moment, back in the Godswood. To have him that close and more again. The feeling of his breath against hers, the need for the taste of his lips… But she had not the slightest of ideas on how to return to it.

There was an aura of uneasiness around him too. He looked uncertain on what to to do, and for the first time, seemed out of words to say. From where she stood, Sansa noticed how his breath hitched and wondered if he was experiencing her same thoughts.

“It has been quite a day, hasn’t it, my lady?” he said breaking the silence, attempting to engage into a small talk.

“Yes, my lord.”

He glanced about the room nervously, then back to her, his fingers fidgeting, “The weather is getting colder, winter is coming as you Starks have always said.”

“Yes, my lord.” Sansa said placing her hands behind her back and rubbing her thumbs anxiously.

He looked away from her again, “It is nice to know Winterfell is very well prepared to cope with such low temperatures.”

“Yes, my lord.” she gazed away too.

“Indeed, the hot springs are a great benefitー”

“Tyrion.” she said interrupting him from any other foolishly pointless comment and looked at him directly with bright eyes. The hammering beatings of her heart fogged her mind as a tingling wave of emotion spread from her chest throughout her body, warming her in an unusual way. Her belly jumped and her gulps heavied. She couldn’t fool herself any longer, she knew the name of this feeling more than well… But would she admit it out loud? 

He stood frozen still, looking at her perplexed. Wide mismatched eyes and a mouth hung open. He was not breathing any longer, holding his air and blinks until she spoke again.

“Did you mean it? Did you mean everything you said to my mother about me? I just… I need to know if you meant it or you were only trying to calm her spirit.”

He held his head high, with his eyebrows arched downwards. “I did.” he managed to say after swallowing a large gulp.

Her body tensed. She needed to know if it was real. The eyes always tell the truth. She kneeled in front of him matching his height and stared deeply into his gaze. “Lying under a Heart Tree is the greatest sin of them all, Tyrion Lannister. Did you mean every single word you said?”

He suddenly cupped her face with both of his hands, holding her tightly. “See it for yourself, Sansa. I know my eyes are mismatched and malformed, but they hold the same light as the ones of any other man. See it for yourself.”

She focused on the black one, then the green one, again and again in a rapid manner. Growing lost in his pupils, she spotted it. That glow she had seen earlier that day. Her heart skipped a beat. He had meant it. Unbidden tears shimmered making her eyes glassy. Her recent desires for the moment they had in the Godswood flamed once more.

_ I don’t wish to pressure him… What if he doesn’t want me? I am nothing but an inexperienced young lady after all. I am his burden, the one who has chained him to a sacred vow to protect,  _ A voice spoke within her mind. Yet another spoke too, louder and stronger,  _ You have seen his eyes, you have felt his touch and the warmth of his embrace. Deep down your broken heart, where all your shattered and forgotten dreams lay, you know that what he has given you extends the boundaries of duty. You are a Stark. You can be brave. Brave enough to look the truth in the face. _

Both of their heartbeats increased, imitating in unison the sound of drums. Drums not from a war song, but songs of brave knights and maidens fair. Sansa felt like a child again, but there was nothing childish about the way Tyrion softly rubbed his thumbs like feathers against her cheeks, nor in how he pulled her face closer to him bringing their lips together.

Joffrey’s kiss was nothing but a cold jape compared to this one…

He held her by the sides of her head with firm and tender hands. He kissed her lightly at first, and then deeper. Her eyebrows arched at the new feeling she was experiencing. Nothing had ever felt so right. So true. The feelings that she could not yet dare to say out loud were poured into her kiss. Her hand instinctively found its place on the back of his neck as his own wandered down her back. Tyrion pulled her even closer to him, breathing heavily through his nose. Their heads moved altogether as if they were following the steps of a dance they didn’t know they knew. Taking her head apart by only a few inches to grasp some air, she smiled. She smiled oh so widely, for she had found happiness at last. She finally belonged somewhere. To someone. He looked at her in the eye and smiled too. Approaching to her slowly with warm breaths, he placed feather kisses on her lips, her nose and on her tears. They remained linked in their positions until she, exhausted, nestled her head between his shoulder and neck and placed a hand upon his chest. 

She felt her body tremble under a rush of tingles that shocked every fiber of her body. Her tummy was knotted into a tight twirl and her lungs felt as if they were filled with water. All these feelings made her queerly feel in pure ecstasy. She was about to drift into a deep sleep lulled by Tyrion’s pulse when she heard the horn of Winterfell’s gates and loud incoming footsteps approaching the room.

They both rushed to their feet and straightened their positions, though they missed to fix their messied locks of hair. Jon abruptly opened the door with heavy pants.

“Bran has returned.”


	27. DAENERYS I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer from everything about asoiaf and got

She had been having the same dream time and time again ever since they reached the Seven Kingdoms. A mummer’s Dragon made out of cloth and wooden poles, held over a city covered by snow. Everytime she made front to it, its black eyes somehow always pierced her right through her heart, making blood run down from her life.

She awoke by the sound of horns been blown from the castle gates. She quickly stood from her bed and, covering herself with a furred cloak, stepped into the corridor out of her chambers. She spotted Tyrion and Sansa Stark running down, it led by the bastard Jon Snow. Daenerys decided to follow them to identify the reason for being awaken at such late hours of the night.

Once they reached Winterfell’s entrance, she noticed there was a young girl pushing a boy on a wooden luge through the gates. They wore the clothes of wildings, yet their facial features resembled the ones of highborns. 

“Bran?” Dany heard Jon say incredulously, his sister standing next to him. Suddenly, a girl of short stature and brown hair placed herself beside them.

“Hello siblings.” The boy on the luge said with not much emotion. At his response, the three of them rushed towards him embracing him in warm hugs and longing kisses. Bran… the boy must be no other than Brandon Stark, the boy she was told to be presumed dead after the siege of Winterfell. She stood in front of their image, not able to move a single finger. They all seemed so overjoyed, reunited at last. Their touches were tender and nothing could compare to the smiles and tears of joy they wore.

Dany felt a sting clutch her heart, a wave of sorrow running down her veins. She remembered how Viserys never held her in such way, he had only used her as a transaction coin, selling her away to buy his beggar crown. A crown she made sure to give him. And although she had heard fascinating stories about her brother Rhaegar, she was never once blessed with his gaze. Yes, she had her khalasar, her people and her dragons… but none had ever brought her the affection and hospitality of a true family.

“We must not lose time, brother.” Bran said, “Winter is coming, and the dead come with it.”

Everyone who were surrounding the boy frowned in confusion at his words. All except Jon Snow, who lowered his eyelids with a painful look of acknowledgement. “Very well then, we should tell them all now.”

And so, they gathered in the castle’s library around a war plan table which had a map of westeros on its top. Among the present were her advisers, Ser Jorah, Ser Barristan, Missandei, Grey Worm and Tyrion. His wife, Sansa Stark stood next to him and to her other side the little girl who had been introduced as Lady Arya Stark. Jon Snow stood at the side of his crippled brother and the young girl, Meera Reed, behind him. The Blackfish, Lord Nestor Royce, Tormund Giantsbane, Ser Sandor Clegane, a man who seemed like an outlaw that wore a half knotted bun on his aged hair, Ser Davos, Lord Jaime Lannister and Lady Brienne of Tarth were there as well.

“Bran,” Lady Sansa said breaking g the silence of the room, “you are father’s last living trueborn son. You are Lord of Winterfell now.”

The boy turned to her with a neutral expression, “No, sister. Being Lord of Winterfell is not what is written ahead for me. My path is to become something else. I have journeyed beyond the Wall to the very first of the weirwood trees, where I became the Three-Eyed Raven. I now can see the past, the present and glimpses of the future. Yet as my power grows in use and effect, a piece of is gone by. Eventually, I will cease to be Bran Stark.” he smiled softly at his siblings then, “But I am still here. Our pack is together once more.

Anyhow, we must now focus on a matter of greater stake. The Others are coming. The tales we have been told by all of our wet nurses are nothing but true. Frigid storms of snow follow wherever they go, led the most powerful of the White Walkers. He seeks me, their leader. I… I am not yet certain what for. There must be something within my abilities that is a threat to him. Regardless, I am not his sole target, for he wants the reign of the dead to be placed over the living. We must fight together now, Westeros shall unite to defeat their army. There are far too many of them for a kingdom to stand alone.”

“Bran…” Tyrion spoke up, “The Seven Kingdoms are not the same as when you left them. The Realm has never been more divided than now, not even when Aegon the Conqueror first landed here. There are wars in every each one of its corners. How will we convince our enemies to stand in a truce with us for a threat that is… you must pardon me, very hard to believe?”

“What my brother said was the sole truth, my lords.” Jon said looking at every member of the council, “I have seen the army of the dead, fought them even. As far as I know, only valyrian steel and dragon glass are capable of stopping them, and there are only a handful of those remaining in the world.” He then turned to Bran, “Even so, Lord Tyrion has a valid point. Why would our enemies stand by our side when all they mind for is an Iron Throne? Who could make them listen?”

“Their rightful King, of course.” Bran said coldly. An aura of silence and tension veiled over the library. Daenerys felt a flame of rage blaze from her heart up to her head.

“Their rightful King?” she echoed, gritting through her teeth slightly.

The Stark boy never left his eyes from his brother, “Aegon Targaryen, sixth of his name, son of Prince Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna Stark. He never raped her, he loved her. And she loved him. In a secret ceremony, the High Septon united their lives under the sight of gods and men only little time before Rhaegar died battling Robert Baratheon at the Trident. You have never been a bastard, the throne is rightfully yours, Jon.”

Everyone in the room was taken aback with widened eyes. Some even gasped, but none were more bewildered than the Daenerys. Her lilac eyes blazed with dragonfire.

“I don’t mean to cause any disrespect to neither you nor your family, Brandon Stark,” Dany said with a smoaky tone, “but I don’t know you. How do you expect me to take your words to heart, specially when you are taking my crown off my head?”

Bran stared at her as if only now recognizing who she was, “You have seen it yourself, haven’t you, Daenerys Targaryen? You saw your brother and his son, the prince who was promised, in the house of the Undying.” she frowned in perplexity. She had never spoken about her visions to a single soul.  _ Could his powers be true?  _ He then looked at her queerly with piercing eyes, she felt a shiver run throughout her body. “The other boy is nothing but an impostor.  _ A Mummer’s Dragon.” _

She felt her skin turn paler than usual and her head grow dizzy. Everything she had fought for, everything she had lived for the last years was all of a sudden…  _ not mine anymore. _

“Enough of this,” Jon Snow said with a hoarse voice, breaking through the tears that were about to dwell upon her eyes. “It makes no matter who sits on the throne if it means they will rule over a graveyard. For now, I want no one to say a sole thing about it, let alone to the boy who goes by that name too. We need to be careful with our enemies if we want them to become our allies. We must all gather with them and talk about the matter.”

Daenerys was astonished by the bastard’s behavior. She was used to men craving for power and launching straight to it once it was close enough from their noses. Yet this young man put the welfare of mankind over his own lust.  _ Maybe he is fit to wear a crown… But so am I. _

“I don’t know how the rest of our enemies work, I don’t know what could make them bend.” Sansa Stark said, “But I do know Cersei… and she won’t hesitate on disbelieving our word or killing us all before even speaking. We must bring something to her, something strong enough to convince her.”

“Lady Sansa is correct,” Lord Jaime said, “yet what could we do?”

“Tell me, Jon,” Tyrion said, “Is it mayhaps possible that you… bring a wight to my sister? I can think of nothing more convincing than the truth in the flesh. Or corpse, I should say. But I don’t know if the idea is even possible.”

Jon looked at the table, lost in thoughts, then rose his head back up with determination. “Yes. It is impossible to go alone, but I don’t need much men either. The option is voluntary to whomever wants to go, no one shall be forced. We leave tomorrow at first light, north beyond the Wall. I can’t guarantee a safe return, but we must do our best if we want to win this battle.”

“Then I shall go with you.” Ser Jorah said, “To serve my Queen as I serve the Realm of Men.”

“I will too.” Ser Barristan added.

“Wherever you go, little crow king.” Tormund Giantsbane said.

“I know I a missing my best hand, but I can still fight. I shall go too.” Lord Jaime said.

“I have seen it in the flames, the Lord’s call has finally presented itself to me. I will go.” the man with the half knotted bun said, “What about you Clegane?”

Ser Sandor looked at him with dragging eyes, “If you cunt are going I won’t be left behind as a coward.”

“Then I am going too.” Lady Arya said.

“No you won’t. You will remain safely here, this expedition is far too dangerous and I won’t risk losing you again.” Jon replied.

“But I am ready! Iー”

“I know you are. That is why I am charging you and Lady Brienne to train the forces of Winterfell for what is coming. Can I trust you with that, sister?”

Arya nodded satisfied yet still displeased of being left out of an adventure.

“I will join too.” Tyrion said.

“You shall not.” Dany replied, finally taking the voice of command over the room, “With all my advisers gone you are to fulfill your duties as Hand and remain by my side.”

“Your Grace, I can figー”

“You heard the Queen, Tyrion.” Lady Sansa said looking at her husband warily. He spoke no more.

“It is settled then.” Jon said.

“Khaleesi,” Grey Worm said turning to her, “When I was patrolling the Unsullied forces at Dragonstone we stumbled upon a mine. The people called it dragon glass, to what was inside. I can lead my men there to mine them for you. It might be useful, if what Jon Snow said about it was true, to fight this army of the dead.”

“Very well, Grey Worm. Thank you.” she replied.

“With your permission,” Ser Davos said directing his words to Jon, “I think I know the perfect blacksmith who could help us forge weapons with dragon glass.”

  
Jon nodded his head. A few moments later, when everything about the expedition and mining was planned and established, Dany dismissed them all. Ser Jorah intended to stay, but she sent him away to. Once they were all safely gone from the room, Daenerys collapsed trembling upon the table.  _ When had been the last time I had shed a tear?  _ she could not recall, nor could she stop them from rolling down her pale cheeks as her destiny had slipped away from her hands.


	28. SANSA VI

It concerned her with much awe… It alarmingly concerned her how, after all the sudden news she had just been exposed to, the thing that she was minding the most was a certain kiss she had received moments before her little brother arrived. She should be thinking more about his return, or about the crown that had fallen over her other brother’s head, or about an army of living dead that were marching their way towards her ancestral home. How was it that such a little man could take up all the room inside her head?

She longed for him in a way that terrified her. She wanted to talk to him right after the meeting was dismissed, but he had been called by the others who also served the Mother of Dragons to a private meeting between them, probably to discuss how were they to serve a queen who was apparently not one any longer, Sansa guessed.

Unsure of where to go, she allowed herself to be lost within her thoughts, making her feet guide her with unconcious paces. They first led her to the stables of the castle, where she spotted her old childhood friend, Jeyne Poole, at the distance. She looked past resemblance from the little girl Sansa remembered. She bore bruises and scars all over her body. Even so, they could not hide a little hint of the beauty Jeyne once was. Sansa was about to approach her when she saw Theon Greyjoy doing so first. As if it was even possible, he had even more bruises and scars than she did. His eyes recently were showing nothing but deep sorrow, yet once his gaze settled on Jeyne’s, Sansa could see how his eyes glowed even from where she stood. She felt a twist form on her chest.

Then, her steps led her to the Godswood. There, underneath the Heart Tree, she found Brienne of Tarth swearing her sword to her sister Arya. Once her oaths were concluded, Sansa let her presence be noticed, and with a bow of her head, the lady warrior retreated, leaving the wolf sisters to themselves.

Arya smiled softly at her and invited her eldest sister to sit by her side on a snowy fallen log. They both remained with their heads colliding without saying a single word, as snowflakes began to slowly fall, shimmering against the rays of the sun that was barely rising.

“Father and mother would be proud of us.” her little sister said.

“For finally not wanting to kill each other?” Sansa asked turning to her sister with a wide grin.

Arya chuckled, her breath forming a cloud into the air, “For surviving.” she replied with a serious and saddened look.

“The world underestimated us all.” she said, “But now are pack has returned, and behind the walls of Winterfell we are stronger than ever. They are both without a doubt proud of us.”

Her sister’s lips curved upwards for a moment. “You have changed, Sansa.”

She looked over to the distance and sighed, “Well, I am no longer a stupid little girl who believes in songs, poems and tales of love.”

“But you love him.”

Sansa turned to her in utter perplexity, her sister’s words piercing her right through her tummy making it flutter. She only stared at her with widened eyes, unable to form up a response.

“Tyrion.” Arya said at her lack of answer, “You love him, Sansa.”

Her chest rose as high as Oldtown’s Hightower as her breath took a hitch. She liked him. She enjoyed his presence dearly. The warmth of his breath upon her lips, the touch of his hands against her cheeks… But did she _love_ him?

Arya searched her eyes with her eyebrows knitted together while Sansa remained silent. “It is a different kind of love, though. I have heard you say you loved Joffrey, but that was not real, wasn’t it? You loved the idea of him, a fantasy of your mind but not the person he truly was.”

_Joffrey, Loras, Willas, all of them were fantasies of mine… Is Tyrion real?_ she thought and still emitted not a sole sound.

“This time,” Arya continued to speak insistently, inspecting Sansa with even more carefulness, “this time you don’t even know you do. But you love him.”

Sansa broke from her sister’s gaze focusing on the birds that were waking up from their nests high above on the trees. Arya finally gave up with a sigh and stood back to her feet. 

“Well, make sure to let me know once you find the courage to embrace your truth.”

With that, her sister left her alone with the sole company of the winter wisps from the winds. Sansa rose her her head to the Heart Tree and closed her eyelids. Arya’s words had made her body shiver by reasons beyond the cold. Her heart hammered hard as if intending to leave her chest and her breaths grew uneasy. She prayed to the Old Gods to give her whatever strength they might.

A sudden rush of the wind lifted a vast amount of red leaves from the tree. A voice ran along with them. The voice… the voice of her father, from a memory long gone.

_Sweet one, listen to me. When you’re old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who’s worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong._

Sansa covered her face with her gloved hands unable to bear more thoughts. Arya was right, she needed to face her reality. Oh, she had thought she had learned better. That loving another brings nothing but chaos. That no one would want her hand past her claim. _Yet my hand is already his…_ She shut her eyes close with such strength she felt her head might pop out. There was a battle between her mind and heart and she felt useless standing in the middle of the battlefield unsure of what to do.

Her feet, once more, took the lead from her will. She needed to speak to him now that her emotions were all above her surface. She found him, once she entered their chambers, waiting for her on a seat by the window. The rays from dusk illuminated his golden curls and highlighted the glow from his eyes. Once he noticed her, Tyrion rushed to his feet. She could see how he trembled and glanced anxiously about the room.

“Sansa I…” he said and then finally rose his gaze up to hers. Her heart skipped a beat. “I need to tell you something.

There was something somber about the way he spoke that made Sansa frown at him in confusion. He was behaving oddly…

After a moment of silence, she saw him gathering up his courage breathing heavily through his nose.

“I… I know I seem to never care for what people say about me, the twisted monster of Casterly Rock. I have learned to live past the opinions of the court, but that did not prevent me from gaining scars along the way. Scars even more hideous than the one that has cut my malformed face in half.” he lowered his eyelids shutting his eyes in pain, “I am broken, Sansa. Despite of the cruelties the world presented me with, I still tried to love. Spiteful creature as I am, I tried to love. Twice. And twice they left me even more shattered than I already was.”

At that, Sansa lowered herself to the floor making both of their heads stand on the same level. She cupped his cheek, not out of pity, but of empathy; for she has had her dreams shattered in front of her eyes and was broken too. She did not say a word, though. Only searched for his eyes to fall back on hers. Once they did, her breath was caught within her throat.

“I was a fool to believe I could receive love from whores.” Tyrion said, “But I need to know, Sansa. I need to know now that I think I'm still on time to avoid being hurt again… Is it foolish of me to love you?”

Sansa felt all her blood rush up to her head. The world spun around her and she could sense her spirit leaving her body. His words resonated and lingered on her eardrums, yet she couldn’t believe what she had just heard.

“...What did you say?

“I love you, Sansa.”

Then, her soul and life made their way back into her body, making her eyes glassy, head dizzy and pulse pound rapidly. Emotions hit her body, softly and tenderly, like waves against the sand-shore. Even to her surprise, she smiled. Baring her teeth and narrowing her eyes with joy, she smiled. She had never felt in such bliss before. Someone loved her. Not any someone. The person she loved, loved her back. He might not be the tall gallant knight from her childhood dreams, but he was the perfect match for the lady she now was. In the whole mixture of feelings she was experiencing, her ability to speak had gone away.

“I know you deserve better than me, Sansa, I wouldn’t blame you if you preferred someone who does not have the looks of a gargoyleー”

She pressed both her hands firmly by the sides of his head staring deep into his pupils. “You are my husband, Tyrion. No missing nose, scar or mismatched eyes can make you imperfect in my eyes.” she said, “Because I… I love you.”

She was risking far too much, she knew so. Yet oh how enormous was the burden that had been lifted off her shoulders once she mouthed the words she had cherished for so long to say. Tyrion stood frozen on his place, his eyes doubling on their size. After eternal moments of bewilderment, he let out a large breath in a laugh. A laugh filled with pure ecstasy. He held her by her cheeks, which had now turned as red as autumn, and rubbed his thumbs softly along them as he always had tended to do. She chuckled a smile looking at him with bright eyes. Sansa had never seen his gaze look so tender as she melted into it.

Tyrion kissed every corner of her face before stopping on her mouth. Sansa welcomed his lips as if it were a habit they had done a thousand times before. He pressed her close to him while she wrapped her arms around his body. No feeling had ever felt so fine. He deepened himself into her, wandering everything that needed to be known about her mouth. Her hands instinctively tangled in his hair as his caressed the back of her neck. A hunger that she had never known before was taking over her body. Foreign sensations flowing down her being.

On the spur of a moment, they were both lying on their bed, Tyrion pressing Sansa against the pillows and her pulling him closer against her body. She couldn’t help but laugh against his lips as a tingle of emotions ran through her body. Tyrion was in glee too, and even though he was hardly breathing, he never ceased his kisses.

Slowly, they parted their lips, yet never let loose of their tight embrace. Tyrion took a moment above Sansa to stare at her making her breaths accelerate. Feeling bold, she moved away a lock of hair from his forehead and rose to kiss it tenderly. His eyes watered, but he turned right before a single tear could be shed. 

Sansa for the first time in the day felt exhaustion claim her. So much had happened in so little time that she had almost forgot she missed a night of sleep. Tyrion must have been feeling the same way too, for he collapsed tiredly into his pillows. They did not even mind to change into their night shifts. Fully clothed as they were, Sansa rested her head under his shoulder and he placed his chin above her head. Sleep was welcoming her into a profound dream. She was just moments away from dozing off when she heard him whisper.

“I am yours, and you are mine… Now and Forever…”

She was too tired to reply, yet she couldn’t prevent her lips from curving widely upwards.


	29. TYRION VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and all that

“I won’t.” he said.

“Tyrion, it’s necessary.” she replied.

“No, I won’t do it.”

It has been a week ever since Jon Snow left with his men to the quest of capturing a wight. Tyrion still had trouble believing in something that had been categorized as a fantasy throughout his lifetime. Even so, if asked a couple of days ago, living dead would be more realistic than waking up next to a beautiful wife who was welcoming him and the morning with a smile. 

Although he was still discontent with being left behind from the group of warriors, he was more than thankful for the time he has now been able to share with Sansa. She has grown more confident around him over the past week, trusting her joys, sorrows and lust to him. Of course, Tyrion wanted all of her, but she was no whore. He respected her more than his own name and was willing to wait for as long as it needed be. He had made an oath to her, after all. Regardless, Sansa had turned bold. Bold enough to now dare make the suggestion of applying balm to his lips.  _ Scandalous. _

“It is for your own good! The northern colds will rip them apart if you don’t.” she insisted. 

“Men do not use balm, Sansa.” he said with irritation yet also with a hint of jape.

“Tyrionー”

“Don’t.”

“How am I supposed to enjoy being with you if your lips feel dry and taste like copper?”

Of course, with that, she won the argument. He had heard tales before about how even the most honorable and powerful men, such as Lord Eddard Stark or his own father, had been bent to the will of their wives. Tyrion could not believe he had joined the group of privileged. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

After pleasantly fasting their break, a meal that has become quite joyous compared to the ones they shared back in King’s Landing, Sansa covered herself in her furs and parted to fulfill her duties as Lady of Winterfell with a kiss on Tyrion’s forehead. He admired how incredibly fit she was to her new position. She knew how to handle any situation or inconvenience almost as if she was born to rule. The people of the North certainly loved her dearly, specially the children whom his wife had proven to be quite exceptional with. She was the life of the castle, the living embodiment of inspiration to every worker, even himself.

His own duties as Hand to the Mother of Dragons were another story. Daenerys had certainly not received the news Bran Stark brought in a pleasant manner. She seldom left her chambers and whenever Tyrion tried to discuss matters of the war or her crown she refused to see him. As far as he knew, Missandei of Naath was the only person the Queen allowed to be around her presence.

He should be troubled with it, instead, he used the best out of his free time to wander around Winterfell and meet its people. He was husband to the Lady of the castle after all. Tyrion feared the northerners would not treat him with much kindness at the beginning. He was a Lannister after all, and they were known for never forgetting their enemies. Yet apparently, or so one of the cooks once told him, after seeing him on the battlefield fighting against Stannis he had proven himself worthy of their Lady’s hand.

Despite their reassurance, Tyrion didn’t feel worthy at all. Sansa was all he ever dreamed of as a boy back in Casterly Rock, before he was corrupted by the casualties of this cruel world. It felt surreal not only to be with, but being loved by such a fair noble lady. She always found a way to make his chest swell up so high with emotion as if he had the purest soul of them all. He loved her more than he could begin to think of, and he was never to fail at words, but she deserved much more than him; for he had a twisted soul and form.

Unbidden, his feet guided him to Winterfell’s library in the hope of driving the tormenting thoughts away from his head with the pages of a book. 

“Tyrion,” a voice called once he entered the room, “I was expecting you’d come.”

_ This boy has certainly grown peculiar…  _ he thought.

Sitting on a wooden wheeled chair beside a window, Brandon Stark started back at him with piercing Tully eyes. He had not grown much from the little boy he once was when they met years ago, yet the look he had on his face held the experience of history itself. Lifting a chair, Tyrion took a seat very next to him and engaged into one of the best conversations he had ever had in his lifetime. Bran told him fascinating stories about his adventures towards the first Heart Tree and his journey on becoming the so called Three-Eyed Raven, while Tyrion shared with him anecdotes of his own.

Without much notion, time passed rapidly by them as they never ceased talking. The sun was setting red as autumn when Bran decided to change the topic of the conversation to his sister.

“You don’t believe you deserve her.” he said, more as a statement than a question.

Tyrion, reluctant to respond, looked away focusing his gaze on the fading rays from the dusk. Yet Bran didn’t stop.

“Because you hold a dark past, you have tormented yourself with the idea that you are a monster. You have repeated that for far too long that you now believe it is true. That monsters are not worthy of anything. Even so, loving is not about deserving. One does not love another out of compensation for their deeds but because their heart chooses to do so. Yes, it is a dangerous path… to love someone. Yet it is also not as complicated as we believe it to be.” 

Tyrion’s eyes widened at Bran’s words.  _ How was it that such wisdom could come from the mouth of a boy? _

“She didn’t love you when you married.” he continued, “never cherished the merest sight of you. Once you were gone from her, however, time and distance did their bid in making her realize who you truly were. The longing for your kindness turned into fondness. And I believe fondness has now evolved into something else.”

“You know, Bran, you shouldn’t use your abilities to eavesdrop people’s relationships. It is uncomfortable.”

The youngest Stark only smiled at him softly, “I don’t need to use my abilities, for anyone with eyes can see it.”

Tyrion’s heart felt heavy as he made his way back to his chambers that night. Everything Bran told him rang loudly against his eardrums giving him little mind to gather his own thoughts. After having dinner with his lady wife, he changed into his night shift and blew the remaining lit candles of the room. As soon as he entered the bed, Sansa curled up next to him, placing her head on her usual spot between his neck and shoulder. She always tended to be the first to doze off of the two, yet tonight sleep didn’t seem eager to claim her dreams.

“Tyrion...” she said breaking the silence of the dark chamber, “why do you love me?”

A hitch of his breath gave away how baffled he was from her question. He placed his chin on top of her head, breathing in the essence of her auburn hair as he caressed its locks with his hand. How was he to tell her all he felt in mere words? He remained in his position for a long while until finally words were able to form up his throat.

“Because you have given me a purpose. You make me feel worthy of living…” he said almost as a whisper against her skin.


	30. SANSA VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LEMON WARNINGS!!!!
> 
> This chapter contains explicit adult material, you have been noticed!
> 
> Side Note: Let's pretend Sansa is much older and Tyrion much younger, Thanks

Walking down the halls of Winterfell with her heart jumping from time to time up to her throat and her breath hitching in excitement, Sansa felt like a child again. Nothing in the slightest like the stupid little girl she once was, though. Her soul was now singing not because of tales and poems but of the dream she was lucidly living in. 

It has already been past a fortnight ever since Jon left with his squadron north of the Wall to capture one of the Others, and Sansa, in the meantime, has been excessively occupied with her duties as the Lady of the castle. Her position was too challenging for her own good, but she managed to fulfill all her tasks exceptionally.

Even though her mind should be troubled by her brother and Winterfell alone, all she could ever think of was about her little husband. He had her feeling a twirl upon her stomach and a wide smile throughout the entire day, even while they weren’t together. Sansa felt foolish of her behavior, yet it felt so right all the same.

Her working hours from that day finished much earlier than usual, hence she rushed down the corridors making way to her chambers in full glee, hoping to find Tyrion waiting for her. Instead, once she entered the room she found a handmaid finishing her cleaning. 

“Good afternoon Lady Sansa,” she said, “Lord Tyrion tasked me to inform you he won’t be able to come to lunch today, for he has a meeting with Queen Daenerys.”

Bowing her head, the servant retreated from the room leaving Sansa standing alone in the middle of it. She found it very peculiar to know her husband was in a meeting with the Mother of Dragons. Lately, the Targaryen had been avoiding his counsel at all cost. Still, it was terrific to know Tyrion was back with his duties, she had sensed him growing bored from having nothing to do.  _ That little man, always eager to do something _ , Sansa thought with a smile.

The sun was barely setting when she asked her servants to draw her a bath. The water was hot and steamy, it reminded her of summer days from a long time ago. The golden rays of sun that shone before the twilight pierced a small glass window and fell upon the water of her tub making it shimmer and reflect against her eyes. Unbidden, her mind drifted into thoughts of Tyrion again. The memory of her wedding night was much with her.  _ In the dark I am the Knight of Flowers…  _ She shut her eyes and nestled her face on the crook of an elbow as a mixture of foreign feelings rose up from her belly in the form of a warm and electrifying wave. She wanted no Knight of Flowers, she wanted her husband. And how was a  _ lady  _ supposed to let her husband know of her heart’s desires?

As she was finishing the last of her scrubs, the bathroom was growing impossible to breathe in as the vapor conquered every corner of its air. When she stepped out of it dressed in a velvet silk robe, Tyrion was still absent from her chambers. Sitting on her vanity, she gently rubbed a woolen towel over her hair as she dried it off. After applying balm to her lips, she tugged her long auburn locks into a northern simple braid which fell from one of her sides. 

And then, the wooden door opened, making path for her little lord husband to enter. Underneath his beard, which had grown quite large, Tyrion smiled widely and approached her in quick steps once she bent down to embrace him, welcoming him back home. Placing his face about her neck, he breathed in the scent from her bath, and when he let his air out, a shiver was sent from her ear all the way down her spine. Sansa placed a kiss on his forehead, a quick one on his lips and then tugged his beard playfully.

“We need to trim this one.” she said smiling mischievously.

He sighed heavily with a smile, “As my lady commands. But first, allow me to have a bath.”

After she waited for his washing to finish and trimmed off his beard giving him the looks of a proper high lord, dinner was brought to their chambers. Sansa was unaware of how hungry she was until the smell of freshly cooked lamb meat filled the room. They both ate in complete delight as Tyrion told his usual share of japes. When she was at the Vale, she had thought she had lost the power to laugh, for she had lost every reason to. But now… now Tyrion has given her all back. The man of her life had brought a family to her heart, brought her joy to her soul and returned a smile to her lips.

After a short silence that fell when they had their mouths full as they tasted their meal, Tyrion spoke.

“The peas are overcooked, don’t you think so, my lady?”

Her movements froze and she stared at him with widened eyes as she recalled that old memory. All of a sudden, she burst into the loudest of laughters. Giggling tears formed up and her skin flushed. Sansa had to cover her mouth with a hand in order to avoid spilling her food all over the place.

“Oh you find it amusing now?” he replied with a mocking tone and a grin, “I find the memory a little painful.”

“Forgive me, my lord, but it  _ is  _ incredibly amusing.” she said struggling to find some air as her laughs filled her lungs.

“Well it indeed is incredible,” he said with a more serious voice and drifted his eyes to the window, “back then we could not even have dinner without a wall of ice between us…”

“Now look how far we have come, Tyrion.”

His eyes returned to hers making her heart sink. Despite of being mismatched, they didn’t fail to let his desire and admiration be known. Shaking his head from thoughts, he stood up from the table saying the hour was growing late. In silence, they changed into their nightgowns and slipped under the furs of their bed accommodating in their usual position; her head on his shoulder, her hand against his chest. But Sansa’s mind had no intention of sleeping while every each one of her fibers burned with an indescribable want… no…  _ need _ . 

Unsure of what to do, she roze her gaze with burning cheeks seeking for Tyrion’s with the hopes that she could say it all with her eyes alone. She must have succeeded, for his face lit up. He cupped her cheekbone with one of his hands rubbing his thumb ever so softly, as light as a feather and as tender as a breeze. With his free hand, he pushed back a fallen lock of hair and trailed down from her head, to her cheek, to her neck, to her shoulder and her collarbone. His fingertips leaving shocks along his path on her skin, which tingled the entirety of her body and made her breaths accelerate.

An anxious feeling was growing from within her chest, something that was devouring her. But she didn’t have a name to describe it. He had seldom done anything to her, nothing more than soft touches, yet she was already mad with lust. His fingers kept running through her skin, drawing small circles that made all of her hairs rise, as he played with the hem of her night shift. Sansa thought that if he continued to do so, all of her air would be eventually knocked from her lungs.

With slow movements, he leaned in closer to her, as if giving her all the time and opportunity to back away. With his glance, he asked for her assurance, one she gave with a slight nod and a small smile. They never said a single word, for everything was spoken with their glowing eyes. He approached his face until he was half an inch from touching hers. He lingered there for a moment, never once breaking his gaze, letting his breath warm her lips. The need within Sansa intensified and her chest rose up and down rapidly with impatience. 

He kissed her lightly on the lips, gradually increasing his pressure. As they wandered into each other’s mouths, a soft involuntary moan rose from Sansa’s throat. The surprise of it made her body stiffen, but she quickly relaxed as Tyrion rubbed his thumb again on her pink cheek while he freed the laces of her gown with his other hand.

Their kiss was growing fiercer by the minute, nonetheless, it never lost its tenderness. Sansa could feel how they both were pouring their dearest emotions into it. She began breathing heavily through her nose, grasping as much air as she could as her heart hammered as hard as never before. Her hands found their own way towards his hair. She tangled her fingers underneath his thick blond curls, pulling him closer.

With a hand on the back of her neck and with his chest colliding tightly with hers, Tyrion shifted their position placing her underneath, pressing her ardently against the pillows. Her heart skipped a beat and her pulse rose all the way up to her head. 

Tyrion broke their kiss and right when she was about to complain, she moaned in shock as he placed his lips on her neck. With warm suckling kisses, he trailed a path to the upper side, right beneath her ear. There, her husband found a tingling spot she had never known existed before. As he gently kissed her there, she could sense he was breathing purposely on her eardrum, an action that made her head pull aback granting him all the space he needed.

After a while, Tyrion lifted his head and after glancing at her nightgown he met her eyes asking for her permission. Once it was given, he returned to her lips and trailed down her neck again. Only this time, he traveled even more south. Slowly pulling her nightgown down, Sansa’s naked body was completely exposed to him. She had only once before been like this with him, though she now had the body of a grown woman. The feeling of needing to cover her breasts was stopped when she noticed the bewildered adoration that circled his pupils as he stared at them.

He cupped a breast with his hand as if it were the most delicate and precious thing that has ever touched the Seven Kingdoms. Her eyes were driven shut and her head rolled back to the pillows again once his lips delicately met the valley of her chest. Her Septa had taught her about the marital duties that happen on the marriage bed, but everything Tyrion was showing her extended beyond the boundaries of duty. This was love, the purest of them all. She had once thought she knew about it, thought she had met it. But only now Sansa was certain. She was utterly, madly, truly, in love with Tyrion Lannister. And the thought terrified her no longer. It drew a quick smile upon her face, and made her body arc to the touch of his warm lips around the core of her breast.

Her blood was being boiled to such high heat that sweat was forming up against her skin despite of the chilling temperature of their chambers. There was a blazing fire burning within her fluttering tummy. A flame that ignited a hidden passionate persona from her. One that resembled more a wild hungry beast than a lady. A dire-wolf craving for her mate. 

When Tyrion rose from his position, he leaned a bit closer meeting her eyes once more. He slowly lowered his eyelids focusing on her flesh, as he zigzagged his fingers softly from behind her ear, down the side of her neck, through the valley of her breast and lingered against her belly for a while. It moved inwards as a reflex to his touch, and Sansa felt her flower jump and grow warm.

He returned his lips to hers. The need for his body roared from her depths making her hands instinctively remove him from his night clothes. She was surprised to find herself acting in such improper way, yet a dire-wolf could never be tamed by a simple armor of courtesy. And then…

_ Oh gods _

Her eyes opened widely with a moan upon her lips when she found Tyrion’s fingers circling the top of her folds. An unfamiliar feeling electrifyingly rose from her sex to her throat, making her breath stop for a moment. He moved slowly at the beginning. Her body arched into his touch desiring him to be even closer than this. She moved naturally, as if her instinct knew exactly what to do, yet altogether, it all was so surprising and new to her. When he increased his pace, she could no longer breathe through her nose alone. Her legs parted giving him more access around her, and Sansa found herself leaning her body into his touch as his fingers entered the most private of her parts.

To her complete surprise, Tyrion then positioned his head between her heated thighs and drove his mouth to her folds. Sansa moaned loudly gripping the sheets of the bed tightly as she tried to resist something down there from verging out. To have him there… it all felt so improper but right at the same time. Her breaths quickened with desire and she placed her hands above his head pressing him against her by pulling from his hair.

He groaned at the feeling of her touch and the vibration against her flower sent Sansa up to the Seven Heavens. Once again, asking for permission with his eyes, Tyrion straightened his position between her. He seeked her glance tenderly with his pupils and caressed her face softly with the tip of his nose once he leaned closer to her. She then understood the moment had come. 

She had been told it would hurt to lose her maidenhead, and although there indeed was a great deal of it, there was also a pleasure with no bounds. She whimpered when he entered fully, but his expert fingers found a way to keep her from feeling any further pain as they circled the top of her folds. His thrusts were slow and in no time Sansa caught up to his rhythm. He nestled his face between her shoulder and neck moaning next her ear. His sounds for her made the warm current from her tummy flow up her throat evoking louder moans in response to his touch.

She moved as if in a dream, unable to believe this blazing feeling she was experiencing. She circled her husband with her legs tightened him against her, as if they could be any closer than they already were. Sansa thought she was about to lose her mind when she felt she could no longer hold back a rising climax that was forming up her core. Tyrion’s thrusts increased in speed while he never ceased to run his hands tenderly around her body, letting her know how much he cared with each touch. 

Sansa’s moans turned into cries while Tyrion was making sounds of his own, both making a tune she would take down to her grave. She gripped tightly onto him with her fingernails on his back as she tried to hold back as much as she could. But when her husband placed his hands about her waist and thrusted even deeper into her, she gave into her peak and her ability to speak surprisingly returned to her throat forming up a single word. A prayer only she could say: His name.

With a Lion’s roar, she saw Tyrion arching his head back and felt his hot seed being spilled inside of her. He then placed his head on her neck again and said her name with the tone of a song, the most beautiful one she had ever heard. He remained on top of her in complete exhaustion, their heavy pants heating the atmosphere of their room.

When he removed himself from her and returned to his side of the bed, Sansa immediately cuddled up to him, their bodies warm as spring. With her earlobe against his chest, she could hear the rasp of his remaining quick breaths and the hammering beating of his heart. She frowned at his lack of words. He was never a man to remain silent for much long. She rose to look straight at him.

“Did I… Did I please you, Tyrion?” she asked bashfully, “Was I too improper? I am sorry ifー”

He hushed her and placed two fingers against her lips. He shook his head slightly with eyes closed and a wide smile. When he opened them, Sansa wanted nothing more than losing herself in them.

“My dearest lady wife… I have wanted you for so long. You had always been so close to me, yet so far. When I promised to never touch you until you wanted to, I never expected you to do so. With a heavy heart I prepared myself to be forever rejected by your desires. But what you just gave me… Sansa I have no words to possibly describe this. With you it all felt so new, even to me. You know I have always been honest with you, my lady, hence believe me when I say this moment we have just shared has already been emblemed as one of the best memories from my lifetime.”

Sansa’s eyebrows arched downwards at his kind words and she melted even more as he tenderly rose her hand up to his lips kissing her between her fingers. She then placed her head back on his shoulder.

“Funny you say all that when it feels you were the one giving me it all.” she said with a smile.

“We both gave it all, Sansa. What we both do under our furs is a work for two, otherwise it wouldn’t be love at all” he replied running his fingers down her hair.

Her marriage, after so many years, had finally been consummated. Sealed for certainty at last. Under the eyes of the gods, she was his and he was hers.  _ Now and Forever. _

She wrapped her arm tightly around his body and pressed her face against his chest, giving it a feather kiss. Naked as they were, sleep claimed them both in no time. They drifted off wrapped in each other’s embrace into dreams no better than the one they had just created.

Both unaware of three dragons that were flying off from Winterfell during the middle of the night with their mother on one of their backs.


	31. BARRISTAN I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing of asoiaf

Jon Snow was mistaken, they needed far more than a few good men to accomplish this mission. They had already lost one, Thoros of Myr, to a damnatory living corpse of a wild snow bear. Not even a sword of fire could save him from his fatal doom. Now, after journeying through a dense and piercingly cold blizzard, they were facing their greatest enemy. Death.

The Others were on them, far too many for their swords to bear. A reckless step let them to awaken an entire army of wights, making it likely impossible to fulfill their objective of capturing one of them. But he was no man to give up so easily. He had come here in the name of Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen and he was not going to return to her with his hands empty.

At the very least, all of the warriors were a challenging match for the dead. The bastard of Winterfell fought with exceptional skill, and the Hound with mighty strength by his side. Even the Kingslayer was bidding a good fight with only one hand. Ser Barristan himself was giving everything he had. Indeed he was old, but his wrinkled body would never forget the steps of the graceful dance of sword fighting he had learned during his youth.

With swift movements, he knocked down his foes one by one. He was known for many battles and deeds, but anyone who was witnessing him in that moment would easily mistake him for The Warrior. This fight would definitely become the peak of his page in the White Book. He moved his sword with such ease it seemed to have no weight at all. He spanned his body dodging every each of his enemies’ attacks. He was the core of the squadron, a blazing fire flaming courage and inspiration to his companions.

Taking out the chains and shackles he wore around his waist, Barristan knocked a wight down and immobilized it all by himself. He had completed the task his Queen had sent him off to.

But he couldn’t focus on his pride as all of a sudden, he was thoroughly surrounded by the Others. None of his colleagues were nearby to help him. He took the wight he had captured and thank the Seven it was a skeleton one, for he then was able to throw it over the crowd of dead that were coming up to him. Standing straight in the middle of chaos, with his sword held high by his side, he prepared to face hundreds of foes on his own. He did all he could.

But it wasn’t enough.

Three roars pierced the bitter air making everyone turn their looks above in surprise. Barristan could see them through the heavy snows. Viserion, Rhaegal and Drogon. He could see them sweeping through the winter sky filling it with breaths of fire. His Queen had com to their aid. But it was too late. Too late for him.

His bones and muscles failed him as the sky darkened, shadowed by hundreds of wights who were pinning him to the ground. He tried his hardest to fight them off, but what could a knight do without a sword in his hand? Their sharp bones, teeth and cold, weathered fingernails teared his skin, ripping him off piece by piece until his own eyes were flooded by his blood. 

Life was fading slowly away from his thoughts when, amidst the darkness, he saw a glimpse of the woman he had sworn his sword to flying regally in the back of her dragon. In pain, he closed his eyes and let his heart make the last of thoughts from his mind,

_ May you win your crown, my Queen. May you sit upon the Iron Throne. I wish I could remain serving you by your side, but I must part now. My knighthood has ended, but your reign is far from over. Do remember, Khaleesi, be strong never ceasing to be gentle. Answer injustice with mercy. Prove them all wrong by proving yourself right. _

_ Now, my white cloak becomes my shroud… _

And with a final breath, he was gone.


	32. DAENERYS II

Regardless of how many her dragons burned, the Others kept attacking in vast numbers. This was the greatest army she had ever seen in her lifetime. Even hers which was supposed to be of the largest in history was nothing compared to the living dead who stood below her. Dany landed Drogon on the ground for the warriors to step up and escape while Rhaegal and Viserion kept flying above ridding off their enemies from the high skies.

Ser Jorah was the one who climbed with greatest confidence and closer to her. As she inspected the men who were embarking, she noticed a familiar face was missing. She turned to Jorah abruptly, with skins paler than snow and sorrow in her face.

“Where is Ser Barristan?” Dany asked.

Ser Jorah only lowered his head and gave a slight shake. Her heart dropped from her chest. From all of her counselors she had always felt Selmy had been the closest to her. He had empathized with her countless of times with stories about Westeros and memories of her brother Rhaegal. Tears dwelled upon her eyes but she shut them off with the need to focus on the task at stake.

Right before she set for take off once every fighter was safely placed on the back of her dragon, the most agonizing and sorrowful cry she had ever heard was echoed through the snow, the mountains and the winter winds. Looking above to identify the source, she found her child, Viserion, falling from the sky. An enormous lance of ice had pierced his neck and when she turned to where the hilt pointed, she found a corpse with a crown of death and blue ghastly eyes that froze her heart to the bone.

She returned her glance to Viserion, her child, her dragon with wings that could no longer fly. He fell in a miserable splatter of blood as it leaked out of his fresh wound. His heavy body hit against the frozen lake and cracked its thick layer of ice. Slowly, her child faded into the deep waters, to never see the surface again.

She didn’t wish for these men to see her cry. A Khaleesi was strong and shed no tears. But her soul betrayed her as sobs and cries filled her, drowning her from within.

And so they flew back to Winterfell. Back to Westeros. Back to the land that had stripped away her crown, her fiercest advisor and her child… But she hadn’t lost her hope yet. Even if the Seven Kingdoms wanted her to fail, she would not bend. She was a Targaryen, the blood of dragons and Old Valyria ran through her veins. She would  _ not  _ lose faith in herself.


	33. TYRION IX

Chaos indeed followed him everywhere. First it was the Dragon Queen, the fugitive Khaleesi. He had advised her not to do something reckless, counseled her not to go. Of course, she did the exact opposite. He sometimes wondered if being Joffrey’s hand was easier, at least he let Tyrion run his kingdom for him. Daenerys did not. Whatever reason for did she ask for his guidance if she was going to leave regardless?

Then, the Crow’s Eye. After Tyrion had sent ravens to both his sister and Young Griff calling for a meeting in terms of truce, he received notice from Euron Greyjoy. Even though his words were inked on parchment, Tyrion could hear them ringing inside his head.

_ You thought I would not hear, Halfman? Secrets in Westeros spread like wildfire, even through vast distances as the one that lays between the North and the Reach. You promised me the Iron Islands and you gave the Salt Throne away to my niece. Why would I ever be loyal to a crown who can’t even be true to its word? Your sweet sister, on the other hand, has received me comely in King’s Landing. I am impatient in discovering how she receives me in her chambers after I give her the most cherished of her gifts,your head. Have you ever imagine you could be shorter than you already are, Imp? _

And now, the squadron of warriors was entering Winterfell back from their journey with two missing men. Daenerys was with them, and Tyrion didn’t fail to observe the swollen look within her lilac eyes. It only took him a few seconds to notice what was amiss, one of her children had fallen. He felt a pang of sadness hit his heart, he was very fond of those dragons. He could not even begin to envision what she was feeling.

To add more catastrophe to the situation, it was Ser Barristan the Bold one of the unfortunate to fall. Chaos everywhere for certain.  _ At least I have Sansa now. Nothing else matters,  _ Tyrion thought.

Jaime had returned with some notorious wounds around his face and neck, but nothing that could not be healed by time, unlike the wretched scar and missing nose he bore. Tyrion approached his brother in quick steps, only now realizing how relieved he was from seeing him alive. Jaime bent down for him and they embraced in a warm hug.

“You look terrible.” Tyrion said glancing at his brother.

“Well, the beard suits me, doesn’t it?” Jaime replied with a grin.

Almost immediately, they all gathered in the library to discuss the matters of the war. His lady wife was there too, along with her younger siblings, uncle and Lord Nestor Royce of the Vale. Lady Brienne and the Greyjoy lad were present as well, bringing news on how his sister Asha had vouched the Iron Islands under Daenerys’ name. Tyrion informs the Queen about the most recent updates, being Euron he most alarming one. Westeros was now divided with The North, the Vale, the Riverlands and half of the Crownlands under the Targaryen flag; the Westerlands, Reach and the other half of the Crownlands with Cersei; and the Stormlands and Dorne ruled by Young Griff. Though the odds of this war were on their favor, there was a more important battle to focus on. One of death against life.

“I have managed to make our enemies agree to meet to present them our cause.” Tyrion said, “Qyburn, hand to Queen Cersei, has sent word for the gathering to occur on the Dragonpit in King’s Landing, otherwise my sister would not attend. Young Aegon and his wife Arianne Martell have granted me to be there too. The meeting will take place within a fortnight, which will give us just about enough time to reach the capitol if we set off tomorrow at first light.”

After Dany’s approval, they were all dismissed. Tyrion spent the entire rest of his day with Sansa, both of them locked from the world behind the walls of their chambers. Oh how he wished to reenact the night before. To hear her, feel her, kiss her… She had been a true goddess, and she was his and his alone. But she had other plans for the evening preparing his trunk for the long journey he had ahead.

“Will you not come, my Lady?” Tyrion asked her.

“No… King’s Landing hold memories painful memories for me…” Sansa replied with a shiver, “Besides, I need to remain in the North leading from Winterfell. With the threat of the dead in front of us I prefer to be here supervising everything that needs to be done. If our enemies agree to come, we must be ready to receive them with food and shelter. I shall call upon every northern house to come here to be safe and aid in every possible way they can. With the Reach no longer in our side alimentary supplies will be hard to find, but I can order for dry seeds and maple to be harvested. They are abundant here in my land. I could also send a party of swordsmen to hunt as much animals as they can to have enough meat for all of the troops. And ale too, of course.”

He stood watching her perplexed with devouring eyes. His wife had been underestimated by many, but oh Seven how lucky he was to have her by his side.  _ No matter how many times she says so to me, I will never deserve her. _

The next morning, Sansa accompanied him until the very last minute before he parted.

“Do you really have to go?” she asked with an innocent voice and pleading eyes as she lowered herself to match his height.

_ If she keeps looking at me in such way I might stay for true. _ “You know I must.” he replied.

She lowered her eyelids and nodded slightly. “Just promise me you will take care of yourself, Tyrion.” 

He cupped her cheek and rubbed his thumb along it as she leaned into his touch. “Life of mine, I am a lucky dwarf, do not trouble yourself for me. I will have my brother Jaime and your brother Jon by my side to keep me safe. And I am sure you will be too staying here with your sister Arya and Lady Brienne to protect you. I will go for nothing more than a moon’s turn. I will return to you in no time at all.”

“Even so, do not underestimate Cersei. You and I both know how she is.  _ What  _ she is. Promise me, Tyrion, whatever her promises are, do  _ not  _ trust her.”

“I will do everything that needs to be done, my lady.”

Sansa kissed his cheek lingering her warm lips against his skin for a long while. She then straightened herself to look at him with her deep blue eyes. A rush of blood was sent to his head. “Keep Jon safe too. We know he is our true king, but many others wear his crown now and would not hesitate in tearing him and our family apart for his birthright. We will figure his problem out later, until then it is best to protect him, great warrior though he is.” she wandered her pupils all around his face making his heart boil, “I will miss you…”

Tyrion nodded and brought her head to his chest. The party was ready to set off, but nothing could take him away from Sansa’s embrace in that moment. They remained wrapped in each other’s arms for what seemed as an eternity, their bodies warm as spring. With the most tender kiss he could give on her forehead, he bid his farewell and parted towards the land where his demons were born.


	34. CERSEI I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Some of the dialogue from this chapter belongs to HBO's GoT 7x07
> 
> I do not own asoiaf

They had all come. Under foggy bitter skies that threatened the arrival of winter, the dragon pit of King’s Landing was filled with the crown’s foes. Taking up the seats from her left side were those loyal to the boy so-called Aegon Targaryen, who had allegedly survived the siege of the city and was now claiming his birthright to the Iron Throne. To his side were the leader of the Golden Company and Lord Varys, that treacherous spider. 

Princess Arianne Martell was also with him.  _ That Dornish whore,  _ Cersei thought,  _ I should have her locked down in the depths of the Red Keep with her blood splattered about her cell for what she did to Myrcella.  _ Oh, how she missed her daughter, the only family she had left. Of course, she still had her brothers, who were occupying the seats to her right. But they were nothing but traitors to the Lannister name and legacy now, as they sided with the Dragon Queen. 

She gave her gargoyle of a brother a deathly glare, though she had enormous trouble hiding a shiver that ran from the top of her spine to see him alive. There was something odd about him. His black evil eye held a darkness like no other. Whatever he must have lived through while he journeyed to Essos and back must have taken more of the monster out of him. Yet the green one… there was so much life in it. It glowed with hope and faith, as if he had impossibly found a purpose to live for.  _ And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale throat and choke the life from you. _ She broke from Tyrion’s gaze.  _ But I have no tears left to shed, and a Lion’s throat is not simple enough to grasp. _

Jaime was avoiding her eyes with much struggle, Cersein noticed. Her golden brother, for the first time in life separated from her side.  _ I love you, I love you, I love you, _ she recalled the words from her letter,  _ he wasted no time proving how much they meant to him. _

With her brothers came the bastard Jon Snow, Ser Jorah Mormont, a young woman from Essos and Asha Greyjoy, who had a gloomy encounter with her uncle Euron that was now next to Cersei and her Hand Qyburn. The Hound had also come, with a wooden box tied to his back. The look on his face once his eyes rested on his reanimated brother was compensating enough for what he did when he left Joffrey to stand alone in the Battle of Blackwater. 

They had all come. All except the Mother of Dragons. Cersei was just about to claim for her impolite delay when her breath was taken to the back of her throat as two screeching roars echoed through the vast atmosphere. She could hear the sweeping of wings, but could see very little through the misty clouds. And then, piercing through the fog appeared a shadow. Robert had shown her the skulls that the Targaryens had kept in the palace, and what she was witnessing now almost resembled the size of Balerion the Black Dread.

A green-scaled dragon and a black one landed on the ground. On the back of the bigger one, Daenerys Targaryen straightened up to the skies. Her silver blonde hair shimmering regardless of the lack of light as well as her lilac eyes.  _ Queen you shall be… until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all you hold dear.”  _ Cersei closed her eyes and with a breath attempted to hush Maggy’s voice again.

Cersei never glanced her stare away from Daenerys as she stepped down from her dragon to take a seat. She knew she wanted to intimidate her with her arrival, but lions bowed to no one, for they were the kings of the realm. A third dragon was missing, she didn’t fail to notice, which gave her confidence in spite of how dangerous enough two could be. 

“We have been here for quite some time.” Cersei said with a threatening tone directing her words at the Targaryen girl.

“My apologies.” she replied dryly, sending a wave of anger and hatred flow through every fiber of Cersei’s body. 

After an uncomfortable silence, Tyrion stood from his seat and paced towards the center of the pit. “We are all facing a unique situation here. I know most of you are focused on how to win your crowns and the throne with your armies, but we have a greater concern to worry for nowー”

“Why are you talking?” the Crow’s Eye interrupted standing, “You are the smallest concern here.”

“Small are your cock and wits, uncle.” Asha Greyjoy said.

“Silence! Sit down, Euron.” Cersei said with a cold look and little patience, “Or leave.”

Obedient to his queen as usual, he returned to his seat.

“Do be quick, Lord Tyrion,” Arianne Martell voiced in with her arms crossed on her front, “We have a war to plan and won’t endure letting my time be wasted.”

“Tell me, Princess Arianne,” Jaime said with a stern expression, “would you rather spend your time mutilating young girls?”

“You shall not speak to my lady in such way, Kingslayer.” Aegon Targaryen spoke up, “I still can’t comprehend how my aunt allowed you to serve for her after what you did to her father, you breaker of oaths.”

“You are  _ no  _ family of mine.” Daenerys replied with a cold glare.

“ _ ENOUGH _ .” Tyrion shouted, his voice echoing through the length of the pit. Cersei noticed his hands ball into fist and his twisted face drop its look to the ground before raising it again to look at every each one of the present. “We are a group of people who do not like one another, as this recent demonstration has shown. We have suffered at each other’s hands, we have lost people we love at each other’s hands. If all we wanted was more of the same, there would be no need for this gathering. We are entirely capable of waging war against each other without meeting face to face.”

Cersei rolled her eyes in annoyance to hear her brother’s clever remarks again, “So instead we should settle our differences and live together in harmony for the rest of our days.”

“You know that will never happen.” he replied

“Then  _ why  _ are we here?” she questioned.

At that, Jon Snow stood from his seat to place himself besides Tyrion. “This isn’t about living in harmony,” he said, his voice as deep and determined as Eddard Stark’s. “It’s just about living. The same thing is coming for all of us. A general you can’t negotiate with, an army that doesn’t leave corpses behind on the battlefield. Lord Tyrion tells me a million people live in this city. They are about to become a million more soldiers to the army of the dead.”

Cersei scoffed a laugh.  _ So this meeting is to discuss about children wild tales,  _ she thought. “Well, I imagine for most of them it would be an improvement.”

Snow severed his expression with a frown and stepped closer to her. “This is serious. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t.”

“I don’t think this is serious at all, nothing but a bad joke.” Arianne Martell said with a grin. “And you expect us to accept your truce?”

“Yes,” Daenerys replied, “that’s all.”

“That’s all.” Cersei repeated mockingly, “To pull back our armies and stand down while you go on your monster hunt. All while you expand your position, hard for to know with my armies pulled back, until you return to invade  _ my  _ capitol.”

“ _ The _ capitol will be safe,” she said, “until the northern threat is dealt with. You have my word.”

“The word of an usurper.”

“The only usurper here is you.”

“There is no conversation that will erase the last fifty years,” Tyrion interrupted, and then looked at Cersei with widened eyes. “We have something to show you.”

The Hound, then, placed the wooden box he was carrying in the middle of the seats, for everyone to see. With a worried look on his half-burned face and a careful hand on the hilt of his sword, he pushed the box forward with a kick making it turn over. From it, a living corpse stepped out. Rotten skin hung from each of its bones as well as ragged old clothes. Above it all, its icy blue eyes were what scared Cersei the most. If it wouldn’t have been for the chains, the wight would have already leaped on top of her.

In demonstration, the Hound cut one of the Other’s arms to show how it remained moving.  _ Whatever could stop these demons? _

As if reading her mind, Jon Snow bent to take the skeletonical arm from the ground with a torch in his hand. “We can destroy them by burning them,” he said as he lit the dead hand on fire making the wight screech in pain. “Or we can destroy them with dragonglass.” And stabbing the creature with a dark knife on the chest, no further movement or sound came from the corpse.

She hoped no one noticed how scared she was. She has had many enemies before, but nothing was compared to what she had just seen. As Cersei glanced around the seats, she could observe how all of them trembled and relaxed.

“If we don’t win this fight,” Snow continued looking at everyone, “then that is the fate of every person in the world. There is only one war that matters. The Great War. And it is here.”

A deafening silence veiled the pit.

“I didn’t want to believe it until I saw them.” Daenerys Targaryen said. “I saw them all.”

“How many?” Lord Varys asked speaking for the first time.

“A hundred thousand at least.” she replied. 

Aegon Targaryen stood from his seat, “If what you say is true, then only our forces together can be enough to face them in the battlefield. Barely enough, actually. As rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms it is  _ my  _ duty to protect the Realm. There is no point in continuing our war now when death is coming for all of us.” he turned to Jon Snow, “You speak with honor. My forces shall stand behind yours in the battlefield.”

Snow nodded at him and turned to Cersei, awaiting for her response. Her father had taught her very well the rules of how this game is played. She would not fail his memory, nor his legacy while it lasted solely upon her shoulders. She glanced about with slight nervousness and then stood from her seat with her back straight.

“The Crown accepts your truce,” she said, “We will fight the dead together. And when they are done for, I trust you will remember I chose to help.”

Once they were all gone, her Hand approached to her with careful steps. “Your Grace, shall I send order for our troops to prepare for battle?”

Cersei smirked at the far distance, “No. We are not going. While they face off death itself and lose half their armies in doing so, we will double our forces and supplies. Maester Qyburn, I task you to find a way to kill those fire breathing  _ beasts _ . That would be all.”

_ They should have never trusted me. I will now grow stronger than ever while they rot. They shall hear me roar. _


	35. SANSA VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here giving you a soft Sansa, as she is in the books. Not that cold bitxh from s8

It had been a fortnight since Tyrion and the rest of the crew left towards King’s Landing. By now, if the gods were good, they were all making their way north the Kingsroad back to Winterfell. Sansa could not wait a second longer. She did not admit it much, not even to herself, but she immeasurably missed Tyrion. She had tried to busy her mind with her duties as Lady of the castle, she always walked through the halls with a smile on her face; nonetheless, her heart couldn’t help but ache as it longed for her husband.

Even so, she was without a doubt doing a remarkable job as the new wardeness of the North. Her routine that day began with a visit to the smithy. The Unsullied general, Grey Worm, had returned from Dragonstone a few days earlier with all the dragonglass they could mine. As she was overseeing the fabrication of the weapons, she noticed Ser Davos The Onion Knight had arrived with the blacksmith he had promised to bring. Gendry Waters was his name, a comely tall boy of young age, thick black hair and blue eyes. For a moment, Sansa thought she had just seen the ghost of King Robert Baratheon before her eyes, but the young man certainly had far better attributes than the drunken stag.

Arya, who was passing by the smithy, almost froze on her tracks when her eyes met Gendry’s. With a wide smile, she jumped and hugged him hanging from his neck. Apparently, he had been one of her dearest companions during her adventures around the dangerous roads of Westeros during the War of the Five Kings. 

Sansa later intended to find her old childhood friend Jeyne Poole. She had wanted for so long now to meet with her properly, but there was always something preventing her from doing so. An exchange of smiles was the farest interaction they had both shared.

She then visited the battlements and found her uncle Brynden supervising the administration of supplies and armor. After she remarked about how the chest plates should have leather to warm the soldiers, he hugged her with an almost misheard laugh and told her once more how much she resembled her mother. Sansa had grown quite fond of him. He had even suggested that the northern women and children could be reallocated to Riverrun, where her uncle Edmure was, while the battle took place in Winterfell. She in fact favored the idea, but stubborn as her people were, they all chose to remain on their land.

Afterwards, she went to the kitchens to interact with the cooks and help as much as she could. All of the women there smiled at her presence and taught Sansa everything they knew. They talked and laughed and cooked in full glee. Sansa did not seem to notice it yet, but she was the living flame that kept the castle warm and alive.

The sun was nearly setting when she entered the courtyard. There was much activity there as every northern men and women were with their hands occupied as they fulfilled their duties of the preparations for battle. Some children were there as well. As Sansa strolled throughout the place, she stopped before a little girl who was making a hairnet of fallen leaves from the Godswood.

“That is an exceptional work you are doing.” Sansa said as she knelt beside the girl

“Thank you, my lady, I am glad it pleased you.” she replied, “They say the leaves from the Heart Tree are a source of courage.”

“And we need courage now more than ever. What is your name, little one?”

“Wylla, my lady.”

“Wylla,” Sansa echoed touching the tip of the girl’s nose playfully with a finger making her smile and blush, “a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Tell me, will your father be in the Great Battle?”

Wylla gave a slight shake of her head dropping her eyelids to the hairnet, “My father died in the battlefield fighting for your brother Robb, my lady” she said and then returned her eyes to her.

Sansa’s tummy twisted,  _ I was not the only one to have lost those I held dear during the war. _

“He was very valiant,” Wylla continued, “my mother often speaks highly of him. As of you, my lady. She works in the castle kitchens, you see, she has seen how devoted you are to your position and your people. She has spoken of Lord Tyrion as well.”

“ _ Oh? _ ”

“Yes. She says it is gratifying to see a Lord almost as honorable as Eddard Stark back in this castle.”

Sansa’s heart leaped against her chest. She hadn’t given thought of it until the very moment. If she was Lady of Winterfell then, by marriage, Tyrion was its Lord. She remembered how her mother and father worked in unison guaranteeing the safety of the North. The most prosperous and peaceful days the region had lived happened all under their lead. She also recalled how magnificent her parents were, always putting their children first. She looked over to one of the balconies were they both usually stood watching them as they played on this very same courtyard many years ago.  _ Will Tyrion and I be the same? _ She smiled to herself knowing the answer.

“Mother and many others were worried at first to have a Lannister behind our walls, but they soon noticed how worthy Lord Tyrion was. She said he was nothing like his family, and after witnessing how you looked at him when he parted, I believe her.”

Sansa failed to avoid blushing at that, “And what do  _ you  _ think of him, Wylla?”

“I think he is funny,” she replied with a childish giggle, “he is a grown man yet he is barely past my size.”

Sansa chuckled lightly, and with a smile, her eyes tendered. “I know. But he is a bigger man than most.”

Wylla then unexpectedly placed the leafed hairnet on top of Sansa’s head, “For you, my lady. May you find courage for everything that is to come.”

At the hour of twilight, Sansa returned to her chambers feeling heavy hearted. Missing her husband’s warmth on her bed, she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.


	36. THEON II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I HAD to include Theyne in this fic

The whipping, the punches, the rats, the cell, the flagging, the blood… they had all gone away from time, yet remain in the obscure depths of his mind.

His dreams were tormented from them, as were hers. If it was not him who woke abruptly with a shaking sweaty body during the middle of the night, she would. Today, it was Theon’s turn. Oh how broken their souls were.

Ever since they came back to Winterfell, Jeyne had accustomed to sleep by his side. She said his presence gave her a reassuring feeling, and he understood, as hers had the same effect on him. 

No matter how great the tragedy was that had fallen upon her, she remained a vision to his eye. The bruises were fading off her skin at last, and her wounds were slowly sealing into scars. 

“Theon, you are here.” She said holding him by the sides of his trembling head as his gaze darted in panic about the room, “ _ I’m _ here.” 

Both of their souls had been shattered into a million pieces, though whatever was broken within one was mended by the other.

_ I… I can’t live without her,  _ Theon realized as he stared deep into her brown eyes. He felt his heart grow warm after it had been so cold for many years now. His blood pumped as fierce as the raging sea and boiled as mild as winds of spring. 

Feeling as if in an illusion, he brought his lips to meet hers. Their kiss was clumsy in a beginning, but as they both remembered what it was to love and be loved, they found a pace.

Jeyne smiled against his face.  _ She smiled _ . And Theon did too. None of them had been blessed with such grace lately before, but their tummies didn’t fail to flutter as they recalled this forgotten feeling.

Theon held Jeyne as dearly as he possibly could, running his hand along her dark hair, in spite of the fingers he lacked. She curled up to him, and embraced they fell into a deep sleep which for the first time knew no nightmares.


	37. TYRION X

The journey back to Winterfell was longer than expected, as the roads were heavied with snows. Once the party entered through the gates of the castle, they were all warmly received in the courtyard. Tyrion cherished nothing more than being with his wife alone. After being apart from her for what seemed an eternity, they both excused themselves from court and retreated to their chambers. All of his muscles ached for his soft bed.

“How did everything fare?” Sansa asked on the way to their rooms.

“They all promised to come under the banners of a truce.” Tyrion replied with a sigh.

“Even Cersei?” she asked and he nodded. “And you believe her?”   
  


“No,” he replied with a small voice shaking his head slightly, “I don’t really do.”

Asking no further questions, she opened the door for them to enter. Once inside, Tyrion almost collapsed into the floor, but Sansa held him as she knelt down to his level. He had no words to describe how exhausted he felt. His eyes felt dry and heavy with tiredness, though they were not restless enough to avoid looking up to his goddess in utter tenderness and admiration.

“I want nothing more than sleeping with you by my side in this very moment.” he said with a lazy tone, breathing heavily through his nose.

She ran her fingers playfully through his curls with one hand and rubbed his shoulder and the back of his neck with the other, “I know. But you must have a bath first.”

Tyrion lowered his head and sighed in acknowledgement yet also in disappointment. Closing his eyes, he felt Sansa place her chin upon his shoulder.

“Mayhaps I will join you there.” Sansa whispered to his ear.

His eyes opened abruptly. Suddenly, all of his lost energy rushed back into his body as a summer breeze. He looked at her with widened eyes while she smiled mischievously at him, blushing all the same. 

After making love, dinner was brought to their chambers, and once they quickly finished it, they both curled up under the furs of their bed, sleep claiming them with easiness. 

That week was densely loaded with innumerable tasks and duties to fulfill as the castle prepared to receive all of the troops that were to come. Tyrion had barely enough time to spend with Sansa during the days. Sometimes, they couldn’t even lunch together. Even so, he valued every second he had with her as if it costed more than all the gold from Casterly Rock.

One day, she came back to their chambers wearing a long chain of gold about her neck.

“Do you like it, Tyrion? I found it in one of my lady mother’s old vaults.” she had said.

He remembered his head grow dizzy then. A sudden rage and panic blazed from the depths of his chest. His breaths accelerated and his pupils dilated. He had seen frown in confusion of his actions. Frown as tears rolled down his face and as he backed away from her mumbling words not even coherent to himself. He felt a dark pit swallowing him whole. He felt like a monster again… 

She had held him tighter than ever, then. Soothed him with her calm pale hands. Tyrion told her everything. About Shae, about Tysha, about everything and prepared himself to be rejected by his wife with a wall of ice once more. She looked perplexed at first, but quickly cupped his bearded cheeks with both of her hands. 

“Let go, Tyrion.” she had told him with a soft and delicate tone, “What has been done is gone now. Let go of these demons, my love. You can’t reach me if your hands are still grasping on your past. Keep the lessons with you, but let go.”

“Why do you have so much faith in me? You deserve much better…” He recalled saying as low as a whisper.

“You have saved me so many times now, Tyrion. Allow me to do the same for you if only once. You are my husband. You are more than enough for me. Never forget it, Tyrion Lannister. _ I am in love with you. _ ”

The rest of their days that week had been more calm. As of today, Young Griff was making his arrival to Winterfell with the Golden Company and the Dornish Army behind his back. All under the Targaryen flag, though the colors of his banners had been inverted. In order to differ his from Daenerys’, the three-headed dragon was black while the background red. Fire and Blood nonetheless.

After a couple of nights, they all gathered in the castle’s library for their usual battle plan meeting. The mood set upon this one was different, though. An uneasy gloominess and fear trembled through each of the bones from everyone present within the room. 

“Where is Cersei?” Princess Arianne Martell asked with a touch of anger.

“She will not come. Untrue to her word as she has always been, she stayed behind bidden to not move from the Iron Throne.” Tyrion replied.

“Well if you knew her so well why would you ever trust her, Halfman? Or should I rather say, why did you make us all trust her? What a spiteful little creature you are. You only wanted to make our forces grow weak and tired, if they even manage to survive this upcoming hell.”

“You are a guest here, Princess Arianne,” Sansa said with threatening eyes, “but you can’t be here if you are not willing to respect us all.”

“We can leave now if you please, little lady.”

“ _ Enough _ .” Jon interrupted with a commanding voice claiming silence to the library, “Lord Tyrion, tell us the plan.”

Thankfully, everyone agreed to it. The Dothraki were to take the front lines leading the attack from the North Gate. The Unsullied as well as the forces from the Vale of Arryn, led by Lord Nestor Royce and Lady Brienne, and Riverrun, led by the Blackfish, would be behind them. Protecting the East Gate would be the Northern houses, led by the Karstarks, and the Dornish army, led by Arianne Martell. The Golden Company would mind of Hunter’s Gate under Young Griff’s command. The courtyard would be guarded by the Wildings leaded by Jon Snow while the archers of the battlements by Lady Arya Stark and Ser Davos. 

“I need to be in the battle too.” Bran Stark said dryly. Everyone looked at him in confusion. The boy then turned to Daenerys, “One of your dragons needs a guide. While you ride on Drogon’s back I will warg into Rhaegal. I need to be in the Godswood to do this, hence I need protection. The leader of the Others is coming for me.”

“You will have me and the Ironmen by your side, my lord.” Theon Greyjoy spoke up with a determination like no other. Bran nodded.

Once the meeting was over, everyone retreated to enjoy what could be the last day of their lives as they pleased. The eve of the world’s end. Some men drank, others sang. Some women danced while others cried. The children trembled behind their mother’s skirts while sons readied their swords and armor to battle.

Tyrion found his brother Jaime sitting alone before a fireplace in an empty room. He smiled at him once he saw him enter pulling a seat by his side.

“I am sorry I can’t fight along you in the battlefield. The Queen forbade me again to be there.” he said.

“You are not a soldier, little brother,” Jaime said placing a hand above his shoulder and gave it a shake, “you are a man of wits and wisdom. The future of the Realm relies on your guidance, you have nothing to be ashamed of for being down in the crypts with the women and children. Your wife will be there, it is your duty to protect her and all of them there in case any misfortune is to happen.”

Tyrion smiled sadly, “Funny you mentioned so, can you believe she wants to fight too?”

Jaime looked at him smiling in surprise, “Oh, really?”

“She says she should stand by her people.” 

“She is inspiring enough with her words and gallantry, there is no need for her to fall in battle. You are good rulers, both of you. The new world will need you both alive.”

Tyrion looked at his brother silently, staring at him for a long while. Jaime has been through so much over the past years, but he couldn't be more proud of the man he had become. A pang of guilt ran through him. “I am aware told you it was me, who killed Joffrey. Iー I want you to know…”

“I know it wasn’t you. I spoke with Lord Varys not long ago. He told me Olenna Tyrell had it planned since the beginning.” Jaime interrupting looking down to his lap.

“And so the roses had thorns.” Tyrion commented with a sigh gaining a nod from his brother. 

“I have had so many enemies before. So many. None scared me, though. None but this one. The Others.” his voice began to break, “Tyrion, I don’t know if I am ready to face them again, I am nothing more than a cripple after all.”

“Then I am nothing more than a dwarf. Look where we stand, Jaime. The word has underestimated us… They have called us horrid names. The kin and Kingslayer. We have proven them all wrong. We shall never stop doing so.” Tyrion said and placed his small hands by the sides of his brother’s head, “I believe in you.”

Jaime embraced him in a tight hug. Lingering for a long moment he then released his arms and said mockingly, “Father would be proud of us, don’t you think?”

“For fighting for the North by the side of the Starks?” he asked with sarcasm and a grin, “He’d be proud of Cersei, no doubt.”

His brother looked deep into the fire, “She didn’t come at the end…”

Tyrion stared at him with a frown, “You really loved her, didn’t you?”

“She was my first love. But she won’t be the last.” Jaime replied in a whisper as his eyes shimmered when he focused in a figure who had just entered the room. Turning over, Tyrion faced Lady Brienne of Tarth herself before returning his look to his brother, smiling at how far he had come.

When Tyrion was making his way out of the room, Jaime pulled him back by his arm, “Brother… If I do not survive this battle, if you ever see Myrcella again… Tell her everything. And tell her I love her.”

Tyrion could swear his heart broke into a million pieces as it sunk to the cold ground. He nodded with tears threatening to dwell upon his eyes, “We will survive, big brother.”

And with a last hug, he parted.

The horns were being blown from the dead echoing through the cold silence of Winterfell. Making the last of his supervisions, Tyrion strolled quickly about the battlements making the last needed orders. Looking over to the distance, he saw nothing but darkness. Death would soon be banging upon their doors with little announcement. His focus was so lost he almost died of a fright when he turned to see a girl standing by his side.

“You should be down in the crypts already.” Arya Stark said frigidly looking down at him.

“Lady Arya, I was just making my way there.”

“Good. I wanted to give you this.” she said seeking for something under her coats. Pulling a dragonglass dagger, she handed the hilt to Tyrion. He looked up to her puzzled. “You are not the villain you think you are, Tyrion. I have been watching you closely, you are not a bad man. We all have darkness in our pasts, but that does not make us evil. My sister. Sansa… she needs you more than she cares to admit. Keep her safe, do not let her down. It is dangerous to live alone… be by her side.”

He looked down to his new weapon wrapping his knuckles tightly around it. He then gazed back up to Arya with determined mismatched eyes. “I will do everything I can, my lady.”

“I hope you do. If you fail I shall get you before the Others do.” she replied with a playful threat, “And _ do not _ call me ‘my lady’.”

Tyrion then noticed Sansa approaching them both. 

“Now, off with you two.” Arya said.

“I am not abandoning my people!” Sansa protested.

Arya took another dagger and gave it to her sister. “Take this. Use it if need be. You should be safe down in the crypts, but we don’t really no what can happen tonight.”

His wife stared at the dragonglass with her brows knitted together. She, as him, was not a warrior.  _ It is easy for us to say we want to fight, yet once our weapons are placed upon our hands, we realize our unfortunate truth: we don’t know how to wield them,  _ Tyrion thought.

“Can I be brave?” Sansa asked her sister with glassy eyes and a shaky breath that turned into vapor against the bitter air.

“I think we both can.” Arya replied.

After the wolf sisters bid their farewell with a warm and touching embrace, Tyrion took his lady by the hand guiding her steps. As they both descended down to the crypts, He felt the coldest of winds run past him. A storm of snow had fallen in the midst of this winter. The dead were here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Long Night Edition is coming...


	38. ARYA III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Long Night is here! (Sorry for the long wait)
> 
> Okay so things you must have in mind for the next for chapters,
> 
> 1\. All chapters happen simultaneously so don't expect chronology  
> 2\. the dead are referred as the Others in the books  
> 3\. In the books Yara's name is actually Asha  
> 4\. This is by no means what I want to happen, i mean somethings are my predictions but definitely not everything I just wanted to keep this story short okay  
> 5\. Please give them some love <3  
> 6\. excuse grammar mistakes for English is not my first lang  
> 7\. In the books the White Walkers can kinda turn invisible (?)

_ Darkness. _

Standing on top of Winterfell’s battlements, she was supposed to be able to see past and above than the eyes of the troops from the ground. Torches and iron baskets were dressed in blazing flames throughout the entirety of the castle.

Yet it was darkness alone making presence upon the sight of men.

Darkness, a mantle veiling the atmosphere; raising mist, the night and terror along it. 

Arya narrowed her eyes against the distance, trying to make shape of whatever she could. Trying to see this unknown enemy in advance. She had once been like this, surrounded only by the dark when her sense was stolen from her. But this moment was a far cry from her past. She was now about to face the only god she believes in:  _ death _ .

A shadow, then, appeared all of a sudden beside her. She almost failed to stop a jump of frightness by been caught off guard.

“Jon?” Arya said, “What are you doing here? Are you not supposed to be in the courtyard?”

“Soon enough, little sister.” he replied, his voice stern. “Are you not supposed to carry the sword I gave you by your side?” Withdrawing a hand hidden behind his back, he handed her an object wrapped in a woolen cloth.

“I can’t use Needle,” she argued with a frown, “castle forged steel won’t do against the Others. You said so yourself, brother.”

“I know. But I might have asked the smiths to bid some arrangements to it.” Jon said arching his eyebrows in suggestion for her to open the cloth, a smile playing about his lips.

With her eyebrows still knitted together, Arya quickly pulled her sword out. Her eyes grew wide and she couldn’t prevent a gasp from escaping her throat. The length and weight remained the same, yet there was something different on how the pointy end shimmered against the light.

“It’s Valyrian steel…” she said almost as a whisper. When she raised her gaze to meet Jon’s, she found him smiling in utter delight. “But, Jon… where did you get it from?”

“My friend Samwell… borrowed his family sword. But Heartsbane was far too heavy for him to wield, hence it occured me that the amount of steel we needed to extract conveniently fitted Needle.”

Her eyes genuinely watered. Jon held her by the back of her neck with a hand, his tender smile still on his face. With a flutter of her tummy, Arya felt as if she were back on the day he first gave her the sword. A naive little adventurous girl, who lived in a castle of warmth and life. Where death was only a consequence of time, not an army.

But Jon didn’t look like the boy he was when he left for Castle Black, When Arya focused on his eyes, she saw no one but a King before her. She was tempted to kneel, bow her head at least. Before she could do any as such, he pulled her close placing a hard kiss on her forehead.

“Remember which end to use.” Jon whispered against her skin, and squeezing her shoulder he turned to make his way towards the courtyard before any tears could fall from his eyes.

Arya returned her sight to the obscure horizon.

_ Silence. _

It was no longer darkness what threatened her heart to accelerate furiously at each beat. A deafening stillness ringing through the wisp airs.

Silence. But not alone. Not without fear. And Arya knew better.  _ Fear cuts deeper than swords. _

Soft sounds accompanied this silence. The hammering heartbeats of the soldiers, the shaky breaths which cut the wind as icicle knives and soft clicking of dragonglass from the weapons held by trembling hands.

Arya took her time to focus on all the archers who surrounded her. Some with their eyes shut closed, others widely opened, and others with tears. From her spot, she could notice every each one of their chest plates rising and falling heavily. She could see how they all held their weapons tightly, as if clinging to a last vague ray of hope. She could observe their blood boiling up to their heads as adrenaline ran through their veins. She could feel their fear.

They were all waiting. And waiting. And waiting. In darkness and silence… Waiting.

Until finally, from the penumbra, a figure took form. A horse with a hooded rider on its back. The soldiers who stood on the battlements tensed their bows, but Arya knew it was no foe, for no corpse could have skin as flushed as the woman before the battlefield. Even from the far distance, she could see the red of her hair and cloak slightly dancing against the little light. Arya did not have the slightest of ideas regarding who she was. The Red Woman stood before the Dothraki forces, all of the eyes from the troops were baffled with intrigue upon her. Waiting for what she would do.  _ Waiting _ . 

With a hand placed around one of the crescent moon swords of the Dothraki and a chant on her lips, all the weapons from the horde blazed with fire. The riders from Essos hooted and screamed in encouragement as the flames mingled as one with their swords. Fire can kill the Others. There was still hope, and that hope spread as rapidly as wildfire as the darkness of the field was invaded by light. 

With no further motion, the Dothraki set their horses to the run, advancing to the yet not visible enemy at full speed. Once they were at greater distance, their weapons shone like stars against the dark. Deep down, Arya thought it was a marvelous sight. And she waited, and waited, and waited.

Until suddenly, the fires began to fade. One by one. The flames swollen by the night. She could hear the gasps, the trembles. Even the tears. Ever so slowly, every sword lit off, to the point that there was no longer a source of light. By then, no one dared move a muscle. Emmitt a single sound.

Hence, Darkness and Silence seized the air again.

And they waited. And waited. And waited. 

Horse Steps echoed through the field, the hooves war drums against the snow. From the shadows, soldiers counted with little more than two hands rode their way back to the front lines. Arya noticed how they clinged on to the ropes of their horses. Wounded and in pain. She placed the weapon she had asked Gendry to make her by the side wall and wondered if she would ever see him again. Her heart was beating too fast for her veins to bear, and her fingers trembled wobbly. Holding her bow tightly, she gave the commands for the others to ready their owns.

And they waited. And waited. And waited.

_ In Darkness and silence. _

They waited. And waited. And waited.

After her long adventurous journey back home, Arya had thought she had seen it all. That there was nothing left to be afraid of. Oh how wrong she had been. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she couldn’t help but shiver, she felt so cold inside. 

Cries of death rang deep within her eardrums despite of the distance. Midst the foggy darkness, only blue pupils could be seen. Corpses with rotten flesh and skeletons with weathered bones both ran in wrath towards the front lines. Arya saw how some soldiers stood their ground while others ran for their lives, cowardice taking will of their courage. The Others attacked like nothing she had ever witnessed before. They crashed into the troops as an unstoppable avalanche, not caring if they wounded themselves, for they were already dead.

“ _ NOCK YOUR ARROWS!” _ Arya commanded struggling to keep her voice steady from shaking and loud enough for her soldiers to hear. She could see from her spot how the wights approached the walls in rapid movements. The Unsullied were doing a remarkable job, fighting with much determination, order and skill. Yet they were not enough. The Others were far too many for them to match. Soldiers from every army were being constantly knocked down hard against the cold ground as screams of agony harmonized the winds along with blood tainting the snows. Any moment now the dead would be able to breach past the front lines and reach the castle. And Arya would be ready to meet yet a new enemy with the pointy end.

“ _ MARK! _ ” she said, her words echoed by her troops throughout the extent of the battlements. Her body suddenly heated in nervousness and excitement altogether when she noticed how close the wights were. “ _ DRAW! _ ” 

She had her arrow focused on its target, she only needed to give the orders and let it fly. Nothing could stop it from meeting its goal. Yet on the spur of a moment, from the storm of ice that had risen in the air, the dragons sweeped low on the ground with blaring roars and breaths of fire. With their mother on one of their backs, they set the battlefield ablaze. Their boiling flames eliminated their enemies in vast numbers. Still, it was not enough.

Arya noticed the soldiers below were pulling back and the gates were being opened. With a large gulp, she swallowed the matter that the fight was finally coming to her; and with a frown and boldness in her eyes, she readied herself for it. She could see how the Unsullied stood as a human barrier the Others and the castle. These men were giving their lives defending Winterfell, a foreign land to their knowledge. Arya, as the North, would never forget their sacrifices.

Many fighters rushed through the gates of the castle finding new positions for the second attack. The clouds and the night had hued to orange against the colossal flames that danced against the ground. Arya was surrounded by faces she had never seen before, and other familiar ones, such as Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne who took place on the battlement next to hers. Regardless, mist fogged everyone’s sight, blood scented their smell and fear bumped their hearts. 

Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons were bidding as much as they could, making a fence of fire which prevented the army of the dead to take any further step. Yet their ice was so frigid that even the flames had to bend to its will. Arya’s eyes widened as dragonfire was frozen and the wights moved forward. 

The soldiers below were wielding their weapons with musical harmony, as Ice and Fire collided. But with a shake of thoughts from her head, she focused on her arrow and relaxed her bow. She reminded herself that this was no song. There was a Dance of Dragons sweeping through the skies and a Storm of Swords upon the land. Three crowns of blood against one of bones made the Clash of Kings and this Game was no longer of Thrones but about life and death. If they were to lose against the bitter Winds of Winter, their bodies would Feast no Crows, as their eyes would turn blue and march lifelessly. Dying with them, the Dream of the Spring that was to come.

“ _ DRAW! _ ” Arya said once more, standing with valor on her ground. And at the right moment, when the Others were close enough… “ _ LOOSE! _ ”

And so, arrows of fire and dragonglass pierced the winter cold. Most of them met their targets, others fell miserably to the floor. The wights moved too fast, much faster than how quick the archers drew their bows. Arya spotted the Hound making his way back to the castle with corpse almost on the back of his neck. With a flamed arrow, she stopped it from getting any closer to him, repaying to the times where Sandor had protected her the most. She could have sworn she saw him smile at her, but it was difficult to call. Part of the Unsullied remained defending the gates. And still it was not enough. The soldiers from the battlements prepared for the wave of dead that were climbing their way up the stone walls.

Arya set her bow aside taking Gendry’s weapon instead. She swung it about her hands, warming her attacks up. Soon enough, a pair of blue eyes appeared front of her. They didn’t have time to as much as blink before she stroke them with the dragonglass end. She kept on and on and on and on. Everyone did. For a moment, they all believed they could stop the Others. Heretofore, none could climb its entire path to the top. None until one, followed by another, and another, and another. 

The battlements were a space far too narrow for a fight to take place. Some of the soldiers stepped down from it, either by running or by falling dead. Unsure as to how it came to this, Arya found herself alone. There were many wights against her, for sure, but they were not skilled. They were no match for a Faceless Man. She moved with much dexterity and elegance, quick like a snake and calm as still water, taking her enemies down one by one in the finest of ways. Whoever passed by and saw her knew she wasn’t merely fighting,  _ she was dancing _ . A Water Dance from the Free City of Braavos. All by her own, she ridded of them all. 

Yet there were even more to come. When she turned to make her way, she faced another league of blue-eyed corpses directed towards her. She turned towards her path behind only to find another heading closer too. With more than a reflex than a thought, Arya jumped above the heads of the wights that were on the stairs. Landing in a crouched position, she continued to fight her way down, acquiring wounds at each passing second. She fought, and fought, and fought. As she was turning towards a corridor, one of the Others appeared asudden, knocking her forehead cold against the wall of stone. Unbidden, she fell onto the ground with the greatest aches of a head she had ever experienced. 

She felt a warm stream of blood running by the side of her face and her vision grew blurry. She blinked rapidly attempting to focus on the objects approaching her, but the images only turned to black. And there it was,  _ darkness again _ . But silence was not, and if she had learned something in the House of Black and White, Arya knew she did not need eyes to see, for she had ears.

She was not one to give up. She could not die, not yet. Not while many names remained upon her lips. She would not greet death...

_ Not Today. _

Standing back on her feet with uncertain movements, she wielded her weapon again. And she fought valiantly, not resting as she unceasingly had to swing her arms. Ever so slowly, her vision returned. Inspecting her surroundings, she saw no other possible way to escape than the roof towards the courtyard. So the roof it was, and from such an elevated position, she slid off to the ground. She landed with a roll to avoid further wounds on her body. She couldn’t risk to be hurt much more while there was still far too long time before the battle would meet its end.

The courtyard was the explicit incarnation of the Seven Hells. Flames, snow, blizzards and smoke, all dwelling upon the same place. She could hear the exuberating screams of men, shouting as they killed, shouting as they died. Blood ran through the ground as a shroud of velvet silk adorning their armors too. Arya identified Princess Arianne Martell fighting along her young husband so-called Aegon, letting her know the Golden Company and the Dornish forces had fallen back too. 

There were no longer gates barring the castle, they had been pierced by what Arya judged to be a giant, there was no escape from the dead. Arya spotted her brother Jon running past her with Ghost. He was making his way out of the castle.

_ He must have seen something,  _ Arya noticed, but her thoughts were interrupted as blue flames colored the clouds. Looking above, she saw a dragon pale as bones fighting the other two.  _ Viserion!,  _ Arya realized and gasped in sadness. She could not even begin to picture what Daenerys must be feeling fighting what was once her son up in the skies.

The shriek of a wight brought her senses back to the land, and she fought again. Arya was feeling exhausted, and she could observe how the rest of the troops were so too. Regardless, the army of the living was faring exceptionally. Everyone. Mercenary from Essos, Unsullied, Dothraki, River and Vale men, Dornish and Northerners… they were all giving it all. With blood and courage pumping their souls, they fought, and fought, and fought.

_ And still, it was not enough. _

Arya was surrounded. She was suddenly alone in the midst of living corpses. She defended herself as much as she could, but there were far too many; even for her. After dealing with the all, any more were coming towards her. She was sure she wouldn’t be able to make it against their numbers. She glanced nervously at her abouts seeking for aid, but there was no one nearby who could notice her. No one who could help her.

Unbidden, she closed her eyes in attempt to find rest at last. Instead, something stirred within her. A sort of animalistic feeling rose from the depths of her soul. A sort of… calling. Arya remembered feeling like this before in her dreams. The scents running through her nose, the accelerated beatings of a heart as paws ran. And then, right about when the wights were at a distance enough to end with her, a gigantic shadow leaped through the flaming skies, followed by many smaller ones. Sharp teeth, fierce claws, raging growls… Arya would have recognized her anywhere. By her side, Nymeria had arrived with her pack.

Even though chaos remained dancing through the atmosphere, Arya smiled as much as she could, relief and pride running through her veins. The wolves attacked with all their might and wrath, eliminating every single one of the Others who were surrounding Arya. Nymeria placed herself besides her.

To have her there, as they both stood upon fallen corpses with flames blazing on their backs, Arya felt like a hero from the stories she cherished when she was younger. As if she were Visenya Targaryen herself wielding Dark Sister. And indeed she looked like a legendary warrior, her posture emanating an aura of inspiration and fearlessness. 

Nymeria’s pack spreaded throughout the courtyard, but the direwolf never left Arya’s side. At a given moment, Arya’s weapon broke after one of the Others hit it with a humongous hammer. Her little sword was no match against it, yet the wight was no match against her. Syrio’s lessons had not yet left her memory. Swift as a deer, she evaded the swing of the hammer and placed herself behind the dead soldier. Fierce as a wolverine, she pierced the back of its neck with Needle, its new Valyrian steel making the wight shatter into pieces.

When she turned, Arya noticed the Hound hiding on the crook of a wall, a cloud of mist front of his face as his accelerated breaths turned into vapor against the cold.

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing?!” she asked angrily as she approached to him.

“Haven’t you seen them, little girl? We are doomed.” he replied, his voice almost a cry.

Arya frowned. She knew getting angrier with him wouldn’t work, it never did. “We need you, Sandor,” she said placing a hand on the side of his shoulder. That brought him back to his senses, and faint tears to his eyes.

But he then shook his head, “We are already dead…”

Arya gripped him hardly at that and pointed to where she had identified Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne fighting surrounded by thousands of wights, “Tell that to them!”

She turned towards their direction with Nymeria following her steps. The Hound, encouraged, joined them too. They cleared their enemies out of their way until they reached the Kingslayer and his companion. And they fought, and fought, and fought. Four of Westeros’ finest warriors and a dire-wolf. They fought. And still, _ it was not enough _ .

There were too many coming their way, and with a wall behind their backs there was nowhere to go. But Arya knew WInterfell and its passages well enough. She was a Stark, after all, not no one.

“Follow me!” she said to the other three and ran in the direction of one of the entrances to the castle. 

But the Others followed as well, making the backs of the warriors’ necks shiver at each of their shrieks. The four of them ran through the halls as the space behind them was filled with a mountain of wights. Their pants resonated through the air and Arya felt her heart jump to her mouth. She was the one leading the party, with Nymeria very next to her. The Hound was at her back followed by Lady Brienne. Ser Jaime Lannister was at the very end, struggling to avoid being seized by the wights.

“Quickly!” Arya voiced making a left to another corridor. 

Rapidly, she opened a wooden door that led to a wide room. All those who were following her entered, but right when the Kingslayer set a foot inside, a sword pierced him through his back. Arya pulled him hastily in while the Hound abruptly closed the door, sealing it close with its lock and every furniture he could find within the room. Nymeria stood front of it, growling as the dead were knocking themselves into it attempting to open it. Lady Brienne took Ser Jaime from her hands and placed him gently on the floor against the wall, he groaned in terrible pain. Blood began to leak from his mouth, his coughs spreading blood into the air.

“Jaime,” Brienne said, tears filling her eyes. Her voice was a cry and a whisper altogether. “Jaime don’t die. You can’t die. Stay with me.  _ Stay with me, please.” _

Ser Jaime only smiled. “No…” his voice raspy and weak. “I can’t die just yet. Not before I give you something…” Arya noticed Brienne frowning at his words. “Help me lift my sword against your shoulder, Brienne.”

With a confused look remaining on her face, Lady Brienne wrapped her hands against his about the hilt of his Valyrian steel sword. A sword that matched her own. She did as he bd and stared him deep into his half closed eyes. The Hound and Arya both stood bewildered at the scene.

“Make sure you are kneeling,” Ser Jaime said, and Brienne adjusted her position. Clearing his throat, he continued, “ In the name of the warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the mother, I charge you to defend the innocent... Arise, Brienne of Tarth,  _ A knight of the seven kingdoms _ .”

As his last words faded from his lips, and with a bloody hand cupping Brienne’s cheek, Jaime Lannister died in the arms of the woman she loved. The newly-knighted was sobbing loudly, pressing his dead body against hers. Arya felt tears of her own threatening to fall.

“We need to go…” The Hound said placing a hand on Brienne’s shoulder. She nodded lifelessly and they made their way to the door on the other side of the room without needing Arya’s lead.

Quiet as a shadow, she stayed behind. Brienne continued off to battle and left Jaime’s body behind. Arya did not.


	39. SANSA IX

If she was to be honest with herself, Sansa felt useless. As useless as the little girl she once was who always had to kneel and plead for mercy. She had learned to play the game, and proved to be quite exceptional at it. She had been named the power in the North, had empathized with her people and was bidding the best she could ruling her land. But at the end, at the very end of a silver line, titles bared no matter. Power resides in the weapons from all the soldiers above, weapons she did not know how to use.

She felt weak and ashamed. Even her little sister was out there fighting with her proven exceptional skills and commands. Her brother was there too. Both of them. All the warriors from above would become legends, if they were to survive this fight, while no songs will sing of how the Lady of Winterfell hid from the battle down in the crypts.

There was nothing they could do. Nothing besides wait. With the sounds of swords and the screams of men that echoed from above, they waited, and waited,  _ and waited... _

Sansa felt useless. Her husband felt outraged. He was not as good as her at hiding emotions, his fury emanated from his body like vapor from a hot bath. With angry paces along the place, Tyrion went back and forth murmuring complains, frequently taking large sips from his leathered wine flask. He had seldom drank this much lately, and Sansa was very far from pleased.

“If I were up there,” he said, his voice breaking the deadly silence of the crypts, “I might see something that everyone else is missing. Something that may make a difference.”

Lord Varys, who was sitting front of Sansa next to Daenerys’ translator, Missandei of Naath; scoffed at Tyrion’s remark. Her little husband turned to him abruptly with wide mismatched eyes.

“What? Remember the Battle of Blackwater?  _ I  _ brought us through the Mud Gate.” Tyrion said.

“And got your face cut in half” Lord Varys replied with a roll of eyes.

“And it made a difference,” he replied sternly. For brief moment, his gaze met hers. Sansa’s heart sank when she noticed the sorrow his pupils held. But he looked back at the door that led out of the crypts. “If I was out there right nowー”

“You’d die,” Sansa stated firmly before Tyrion could comment any further nonsense. She caught his attention. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“I’d die?” he said laughing sarcastically, a hint of anger and hurt in his voice as he approached to her with rage. “Why, wife of mine, I did not know you thought so low of me.”

The wine was getting the better of his head, Sansa knew, yet the realization didn’t make his tone hurt any less. “You know I don’t,” she said.

“Then why do you doubt me?” Tyrion asked raising his voice slightly, “I know I am malformed, but I have proven to be no craven! I haveー”

“Fought in the Green Fork, the Blackwater, Siege of Meereen and the battle against Stannis. I know, you cherish to say that often.” she could see how his eyes grew wide as if her words stinged him, “But the most heroic thing we can do now, is look the truth in the face. We would be a burden up there, Tyrion, we don’t know how to fight their kind of battles.”

She cupped his face. For a moment, he seemed to be leaning in to her comfort, but he shoved her hand off. “No.  _ I  _ can. I shouldn’t be here.” Tyrion looked around at his abouts, “Not here hiding withー”

Sansa had stomached all she cared for. “Not here with whom, Lord Tyrion?” she said standing up to tower above him, something she had never done before. “Not here with your wife? Not here with the women and children? Yes, they do not know how to wield axes as well as you do. But if it weren’t for them, our men up there wouldn’t be fighting with their bellies full of energy from their foods. If it weren’t for them, our soldiers wouldn’t have armor exceptionally knit with leather underneath to fight in the cold. If it weren’t for them, our troops wouldn’t have a purpose to return to and would give up on battle.

Can’t you see it, Tyrion? Can’t you see that a war is not only fought with forged steel and dragonglass? You and I are both here to defend them. Sure, we are no warriors like our siblings above, yet we are all they have to their defense. But I won’t let you under any circumstance talk to them as if they were insignificant. As my husband, they are your people too now. Hence either you embrace your truth and respect them, or you can continue to drown in your wine!” 

She had certainly not realized how loud she was speaking. Sansa looked around her feeling every eye from the crypts on he. She couldn’t determine the concrete emotion that was on them, but she could see admiration, pride and empowerment lighting up on the women’s faces. Lord Varys was smirking slightly. But all that mattered to Sansa was Tyrion. 

He did not move a single muscle, did not lift a sole finger did not blink for once. With perplexed eyes, he stood with his gaze up to hers and his eyebrows arched to the floor. Sansa felt heavy-hearted. It had been easier to ignore him back in King’s Landing than to be this angry with him. It wounded her soul deeply.

“I’m sorry…” Tyrion whispered as he lowered his head to the ground. Sansa’s heart shattered.

Sinking to her knees, not caring for who may be watching her, she placed her hands on the sides of his face and her forehead against his.

“We cannot do this, Tyrion. We cannot fight, not now.” sh said, her breaths quickening, “We don’t know if we are going to survive this and the mere thought of losing youー”

“You are not going to lose me, life of mine.” Tyrion interrupted with a tender hand caressing her auburn hair. He pulled back to see her face better, “We are going to survive this. And we will rule the North together. We will fill the halls of Winterfell with wolves of our own and we are going to be together until we are old and grey.”

“You don’t know that…” she whispered. She felt so moved from his words she felt she would burst down to tears at any given moment.

“No, I don’t,” he sighed and then grinned, “But even a little man can dream, don’t you think?”

She smiled sadly at that, “I thought that we had both learned better than to give into dreams. They have hurt us so.”

He kissed her forehead gently, “No matter how cold you and I want to be, our souls can’t help but dream.”

And so they sat together, hands entwined, as silence returned to take dominion over the crypts. The fainted sounds from the battle above still rang all the way down there, though. And they waited, and waited, and waited. Eventually, Tyrion stood to exchange himself in conversation with his old friend Lord Varys. Although the two of them now served different crowns, her husband had mentioned her that his peculiar friendship with the eunuch prevailed. Lord Varys had, after all, saved him from his execution, and Sansa owed him her life for that.

Unsure of what to do and refusing to remain sitting alone with her own fears, Sansa went back to her feet and strolled around the crypts, frequently stopping by each northern family to talk with the women and cheer the children. Along her way, she found little Wylla whom she had met days earlier and both exchanged smiles. 

Almost by the end of her walk, Sansa froze on her tracks when she saw her. Curling up to a corner and doing her best to pretend she was not trembling with dread, was her old childhood friend Jeyne Poole. She looked so pale underneath the torchlight, and her eyes seemed haunted with grief, dark shadows below them against her pale skin. She was dressed in a woolen grey dress and her brown hair was styled in a northern half braid. If it weren’t for all the bruises and scars she wore, Jeyne would’ve looked like a proper lady of the court. Her beauty was once only a small cry away from Sansa’s.

Once she noticed her, Jeyne stood to her feet performing a clumsy curtsy and bow of head. “My Lady,” she greeted with a small voice.

“Jeyne…” Sansa said almost as a sigh of relief. Arching her eyebrows in a mixture of sadness and joy, she couldn’t herself from wrapping her arms around her old friend tugging her into the warmest of hugs. Jeyne’s body stiffened for a brief moment, and then she hesitantly reciprocated the action, ever so slowly, tightening her grip around Sansa’s body.

Sansa pulled back and noticed the tears that shimmered from Jeyne’s eyes. “I am sorry for not coming to you sooner, Jeyne. I should have. I should have pushed aside some of my duties and visit you. Do forgive me if you might.”

Jeyne lowered her eyelids and shook her head faintly, “No, my lady. It is quite alright. I know you were very busy ruling Winterfell and making the necessary arrangements for this battle. If it weren’t for you, my lady, our men wouldn’t have been prepared enough for this fight. And after your recent demonstration, without you, the women here would have lost all courage and hope already. You are good at this, my lady. Leading people. You resemble your father much, he would be proud of you.”

Sansa’s chest fluttered. Her friend had always had a way of breaking through her barriers and reach her emotions. Before her tears could fall, she shook the thoughts from her head. “Come, Jeyne, sit with me.”

“Of course, my lady.” she replied.

As they seated next to a crypt, Sansa grabbed Jeyne by the hand and rubbed her thumb against the back of her palm, “Jeyne… you don’t have to call me ‘my lady’.”

The glow that shone from her friend’s eyes at those was a memory Sansa would take to her own crypt, even if she was to die tonight.

“Yes… I remember… We were friends.” 

Sansa nodded sorrowly. “I missed you, Jeyne.” she said as a whisper, making Jeyne’s tears fall like waterfalls. “I was very worried for you, you were much in my thoughts and prayers in King’s Landing. When Queen Cersei sent you away, I feared a vast deal for where they were taking you.”

“I’m afraid where they took me in King’s Landing was not the worst part of my story, for that happened here, in our own home.”

And so, Jeyne told Sansa her journey from Littlefinger’s brothels in the capitol to her impersonification of Arya in Winterfell. Sansa had heard tales on how the Bastard of Bolton used to torture his prisoners, Jeyne included. But to hear the stories from her friend’s own lips… Sansa’s heart lost a piece at each of her words. The beatings, the flagging, the raping, the dogs…  _ Joffrey did nothing to me compared to what Ramsay did to Jeyne,  _ Sansa thought,  _ though he wouldn’t have stopped himself to do the same if he could have had. I could have easily been standing on Jeyne’s shoes if it weren’t for Tyrion. _

“And then Theon saved me,” Jeyne said as she continued her story. Sansa could have sworn she saw the hint of a smile playing at her lips as she mentioned Theon Greyjoy, but it went too quick for her to tell. “I told him not to leave me and he said he would be right there by my side. I don’t know what lend me to do so, maybe I was too broken, but I couldn’t help than put all of my trust on him. It was risky of me to do so, but I am glad I did… _ I am very glad _ .”

Sansa stared at her friend blinking dearly, “You love him.”

Jeyne then smiled widely at the distance, her smile lighting up her entire being, “I would not have dared to even dream I could love again. But I do…” she then turned to face Sansa, “We are broken souls, he and I. But we find our missing pieces in each other.” Tears filled her eyes and her breaths accelerated making her voice crack, “Sansa, I don’t know what I’d do without him… _ I cannot lose him. _ I would not survive…”

Sansa pulled Jeyne into her embrace and soothed her. She wanted to promise her friend that Theon would survive. That he would come victorious and return to her. That it all would be well. But she dared not. Not even the Old gods nor the New could hold up to such promises. “You would survive, Jeyne. And if anything is to happen, you will always have me.  _ We are family _ .”

Jeyne clinged onto Sansa’s furs tighter at that. She couldn’t help but pity her poor friend and her reliance on Theon Greyjoy. Thoughts of losing Tyrion genuinely crossed her thoughts and Sansa felt her soul leaving her body. Wherever would she be without her little lion by her side? At least Tyrion was here with her, Theon was up there exposed to the battle. But Sansa was no fool. She knew safety was an illusion and that any moment now something sinister would happen, she felt it in her bones.  _ I cannot lose him, _ she prayed to her ancestors as she stroked Jeyne’s hair gently with her hand,  _ If you are to take him away from me, take me with me. Take me too, for I cannot bear a life without him in it. _

Both young ladies remained together for a longer while, their souls feeling as the naive little girls they once were, in spite of how far from those summer days they both were. But suddenly…

_ BANG. BANG. BANG. _

Sansa rose to her feet making immediate steps towards the entrance of the crypts. Soldiers were banging on the doors. She could hear their screams… no… their  _ pleas _ . They begged and cried for them to open, and Sansa was in the middle of them all. 

“Open up, please!” she heard them say, “They are coming! We don’t have much time.  _ PLEASE _ .”

Sansa’s eyes twisted and her heart shrinked at each scream. The command was hers, and only hers to give. She alone could decide whether the doors were to open or not. Those were her own men banging them, pleading for her mercy. But the women and children within the crypts were her people too… 

Her decision had been made, but oh Seven gods how her soul ached when the shrieks of the Others filled the atmosphere. It was unmistakable… The sound of the soldiers’ skulls and bones cracking against the doors as they cried out to meet death at last. Sansa felt her heart rise all the way up to her throat as tears dwelled upon her Tully blue eyes.

The screams of agony faded slowly, announcing the victory of the dead.

With trembling knees and shaky breaths, Sansa took a seat, and Tyrion lost no time in approaching to her.

“You did the right thing, Sansa,” he said with the soft, deep and tender voice she loved so much. 

She rose her eyelids to look at him, “Did I truly? Then why do I feel like I have wronged?”

He took her hands into his and squeezed them, “You did not, life of mine. Sansa, as ruler you must understand that sometimes the choices you must take won’t ever be kind to make, yet they are necessary. All the people here owe you their lives for what you just did.”

Tyrion cupped her cheek with his gloved hand and Sansa leaned into his touch, placing a kiss on the back of his palm, “Tyrion… what would I ever do without you. Promise to never leave me, I would not bear to lose you. How would I ever survive?”

For once, her husband kept his witty remarks to himself and spoke truly.  _ The world is ending above us _ , she told herself,  _ might as well speak with the heart now than never. _

“You have survived the worst without me, Sansa, what is it that you fear?” he asked.

“To lose you.” she said gently making his face soften. Terror and panic took possession of her body as the words left her lips. Unable to hold back the tears any longer, she let them all fall and permitted her sobs to rise. “Tyrion, I don’t want to die.”

“Shhh. Here, wife,” he said against the top of her head as he pulled her into his embrace. “You married a dwarf, Sansa, remember? Lucky. We will survive this, you and me both.”

Sansa shook her head against his chest, “We needed more time, Tyrion. I want to be with you for more. Much more. I should have loved you, when we married. I should have been smarter and see past your looks. You tried to reach me, I remember. Why didn’t I let you? I was stupid. So stupid. Tyrion, I don’t want to go… not yetー”

Tyrion sealed any further words pressing a hard kiss against her lips and a soft one on her forehead. “Don’t dwell on the past, Sansa. It is gone. We are here now. Together. At the World’s End, yes. But together.” He pressed her hand against his quick-beating heart, “Do you trust me, Sansa?”

She nodded her head wiping the tears from her face with her free hand. 

“I love you,” he said and Sansa melted into it, “and I will protect you, my lady.”

With the reassurance of her husband by her side, Sansa leaned her head against Tyrion’s forehead warming herself up with the heat of his body. She did not say anything to him, though. She did not why, but she felt scared to say much. Scared as if she said out loud how much she loved him, how much he wanted him; life would only take him away as everything she had ever cherished. They remained in their position without speaking a single word more, Silence claiming the crypts again…

And they waited, and waited, and waited.

In deathly silence,

_ They waited, and waited, and waited. _

All of a sudden, Sansa heard a sharp scream coming from further down the corridor. A group of women were turning towards the crypt they were sitting on screaming up to the top of their lungs. Sansa frowned at them, unable to determine the reason of their fears. But then… then she saw it, and every drop of blood within her body ran cold as winter, and the single shade of hope she was clinging to disappeared. She had known it, there was no safety from these Seven Hells on Earth. They wouldn't be able to hide from death behind doors when they were sharing a room with it. 

Her ancestors from the crypts were rising up as wights, with dust in their bones and ragged clothes hanging from them. Sansa saw a handful of them flinging themselves towards a group of people, killing them all with an unsettling easiness. She felt an unmeasurable fear blazing within her, a fear that had somehow led her to the back of a crypt.

The quick breaths and pants that were forming up her throat were taking the best out of her senses. She trembled like never before, too agitated to even cry. In an attempt to calm herself, she tried to focus on the matter and look behind the crypt she was hiding at. But the action only made her panic increase. She blinked rapidly as her vision began to blur. Her head felt heavy and her heart empty. She felt a foreign feeling stirring at the bottom of her belly making her awfully nauseous. There was nothing she could do, nothing to stop what she was feeling. Fear, fear,  _ fear _ … 

A hand wrapping her own brought her back to herself. She turned to her side to face her husband, who had been with her all the time. In his eyes, she saw she saw her own terror and thoughts reflected. She could cope with her own fears, but Sansa would not let her lord husband be consumed by them. She would not let him fall. 

Gathering what little courage remained within her, she pulled out the dragonglass dagger her sister Arya had given her from under her furs. Though with trembling fingers, she held tightly onto the hilt, attempting to find balance to its unfamiliar weight. She turned to Tyrion who was looking at her with an unreadable look and scoffed a sad laugh. This was her end, their end, but they were together. Tyrion pursed his lips into a sorrowful smile and pulled out his own dagger. His eyes returned to hers and tendered.

Sansa cursed herself for not speaking before. She had the opportunity to say everything she hasn’t already. To voice a proper goodbye. She could have a few moments ago, but now with her tongue tied into a fast knot, her throat did not will to voice a mere word. She needed to tell him that she wanted him, that she loved him. That she wanted to remain by his side now and forever. That she was his, and only his, as he was hers. She wished to tell him that she was not ready to leave yet, not without having more tastes of life with his presence. That she wanted to give him all of her laughs, sorrows and lust. And that she wanted him to be the father of her children and grow old together. 

Independent tears began to trail their path down her pale cheeks. Sansa felt herself suffocating, for she could not speak. Hence she prayed to the gods. Old, New, of Light and Drowned. She prayed to whomever willed to liste. Prayed that Tyrion could see all she wanted to say reflected in her eyes alone. So she started deeply into him, eyebrows arched in a plea.

Her prayers must have been answered, for Tyrion smiled ever so widely when he found the glow of her eyes. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze rising it up to meet his lips. He placed the sweetest of kisses against it while breathing in deeply through his nose. Sansa wondered why he hadn’t kiss her on the lips.  _ Because we are going to survive,  _ she answered to herself,  _ Because we are going to live, and then I will have my kiss. _

Taking a breath with her mouth, Sansa stood from their hiding place still holding her husband’s hand. They both had to eventually let go as their fighting began. She did not know how she managed not to faint after seeing some of her own people slaughtered about the floors. But many remained alive, and it was her duty to protect them.

The Others lost no time in approaching themselves to them. With her dagger held high, she moved clumsily, trying to accommodate into a proper position to stand her ground. She thrust the pointy end into the chest of a wight, making it shatter into thousands of pieces. She gained confidence from this, and moved with easier shifts of the dagger at each strike.

Tyrion was with his hands full as well, bidding all he could to rid of the dead. Sansa spotted a group of wights making way towards a group of women and children and rushed to them as fast as her legs could carry her. Standing in between, she ended with three at once. The fourth wight scratched the side of her face with its sharp skeletonical finger tips, and Sansa could feel her own blood warming her cheek. With a cry of war, she flung herself towards the wight, welcoming it to the tip of her dagger. 

Sansa knew she was by no means at the same level her siblings were, but oh gods, she could not deny how good it felt to be a warrior of weapons, at least for once. She turned to her people behind them to make sure they were safe. 

“Grab the torches from the crypts,” she instructed the women, “fire can kill the Others too, Lord Tyrion and I need as much help as we can. Tell everyone you find. Go!”

She acquired multiple more wounds along the way, but nothing pained her any longer. She was the defensor of her people, she would not let them down for a few scratches and spilled blood. Sansa, Tyrion, and the women with the torches were giving it all, doing everything they could. And still, _ it wasn’t enough. _

_ I need to get them all out of here _ , Sansa thought.

To their luck, Sansa was a Stark. She might have wanted to be someone else when she was younger, but her father had taught her better. So as a proper Stark, she knew the secret passages around the crypts.

“Everyone! Quickly! Gather around me!” she began shouting to everyone she could find while running, “Quickly! To me!”

As she was too focused on making people mind her, Sansa did not foresee the wight that was coming to her direction at high speed. With a gasp of surprise, she was pinned to the ground, losing her dagger in the fall and hitting herself hard on the head. She was done for. With its arm risen, the wight prepared its attack. But before she could even close her eyes…

“Get your filthy bones off my wife, you dead bastard!” she heard Tyrion say at the top of his lungs.

Her little husband threw himself towards the Other piercing it with his dragonglass dagger. Tyrion, then, quickly moved towards Sansa helping her back to her feet and lacing her dagger back on her hand.

“Tyrion, I need you to help,” she said, “help me gather everyone you can. You all need to follow me. I know how to manage our way out of here.”

He didn’t even frown in question and did as bid. Once everyone was under her lead, they ran as fast as they all could through the corridors of the crypts from the many wights that followed them. Making a turn to the right, Sansa managed to lose sight of them.

And so, she led all of her people towards a safe escape, making way to the Godswood of Winterfell.


	40. THEON III

They had all come from the mist of the dim woods. With their cries and shrieks of death that echoed through the darkness, the Others had at last reached the Godswood of Winterfell. There were not many of them, at least not as many as Theon expected. Even so, they were a challenging match against the ironborn forces. Even for his sister.

With his bow in hand, Theon led his archers to fire flaming arrows at their foes. In spite of the fingers he was missing, he had not lost his talent with this weapon, though it certainly made things even more difficult.

He lost many of his men, but refused to give up on his fight. Theon eventually ran out of arrows, but was quick enough to grab a lance from one of his fallen soldiers before one of the Others could get the best of him. Holding his dragonglass weapon tightly, he spun and swirled fighting bravely, eliminating the wights one by one.

If this battle would’ve taken place a year, or even months before, he’d have no inconvenience at all. But now… now something was different. Death no longer seemed friendly to him. He had something to return to after this fight. Someone. And he was not going to let her down, for Jeyne Poole deserved the the seven blessings and more.

His sister Asha was counting on him too. Fighting besides Theon, she fought better than any man could ever bid. Finally, there were no more enemies to defeat. Theon turned to Bran who was still with his eyes rolled back warging into one of the Targaryen Queen’s dragons. He then turned to his soldiers. Though there were very few ironmen remaining, they had won… 

_ Or so they thought. _

In the spur of a moment, every each one of the Others they had slayed rose from the ground. And not them alone… His own fallen men opened their eyes again with eyes blue as iced water, as if the sea could be somehow freeze. And so they had to wield their weapons again. And they fought, and fought, and fought. They fought with graceful skill…

And still, it was not enough.

The ironborn were reduced to Theon and Asha alone. Both siblings fighting back to back, aiding each other as much as they could.

_ I cannot die, _ Theon thought,  _ I must not die, she is waiting for me. No. I am a Greyjoy, a Greyjoy, yes. We do not sow. I will not sow. I must not sow. _

And then, without warning, the dead stood still. None of them moved, as if their rotten bodies had frozen to stone. They all stood perfectly surrounding the Heart Tree. Theon frowned in confusion and fear, and he could see his sister wore the same expression as his.

Darkness and Silence veiled the Godswood like an unannounced mantle. Bran Stark opened his eyes then. Theon awaited for what he would say with shaky breaths.

“They are coming,” the boy said. Theon felt his knees grow weak. 

And they waited, and waited, and waited.

In Darkness and Silence,

_ They waited, and waited, and waited… _

Blue spheres shone against the penumbra of the forest. With slow, careful steps, whom seemed to be the leader of the Army of the Dead entered the Godswood with a vas squadron of White Walkers behind his back. The way they looked at him, the way they pierced their sorrow through his soul… The Dreadfort seemed a luxury next to them.

Theon felt his heart sinking on his chest as flashes of pain ran through his mind. He shut his eyes hard attempting to calm his panic and cease his trembles. With his eyebrows arched downwards, he turned to Bran, hoping that he may offer him a solution for his battle. The little boy only looked at him, and Theon could see the pity in his eyes.

“Theon,” Bran said, “you are a good man… Thank you.”

His words where a knife to his heart. Unwilling tears formed upon Theon’s eyes and dropped gently into the snow. He was done for, he knew so, but he would not go without one last stand. No. He had grown with him, he had grow with all of the Starks. They were all as much his siblings as Asha was. Winterfell raised him and he put it to the torch. How could he have been such a fool? But he wasn’t one any longer. No, he was a man changed. A man loved. 

His memories, asudden, went to thoughts about Robb Stark. To him who had been his brother. His closest of friends.  _ I am sorry Robb,  _ he said sending a prayer as Lord Eddard always used to when front of this very Heart Tree,  _ I wish my apologies could be enough, but they won’t ever be. I am sorry, brother, hope you have it in you to forgive my soul, for I am coming, Robb. I am coming. But not without giving one last fight for our home.  _

After squeezing his sister’s hand tenderly, Theon adjusted his lance to his side and prepared his charge. He knew he was no possible match against the Others, but he had to try. For Bran, for Robb, for Winterfell.

And so he charged. He moved as if in a dream,everything slowing down as he ran. His vision blurred and his ears sealed closed, only letting him hear the faint screams of his sister voicing his name. 

And so he ran. Gripping his lance tightly, he ran towards the leader, who with great easiness, evaded Theon’s strike. He broke his weapon with his bare hands, as if it was forged from weak wood, and with one of the sharp broken edges, the leader pierced Theon through his belly, making him fall from his place as life was drained from his soul.

All the way down,

he could only think

one name,

_ J E Y N E. _


	41. JON IV

He had seen him from the far distance. From where he stood on the courtyard, Jon spotted the leader of the Others moving with his White Walkers behind him outside of Winterfell. And he lost no time in rushing his way towards him.

“Ghost, to me!” Jon commanded to his dire-wolf.

They both ran past everyone in the courtyard, fighting their way from whichever foe dared to cross their path. And they fought, and fought, and fought all along their trail, gaining wounds and splatters of blood that they would later wear as badges of honor. If they were to survive, that was.

After crossing the storm of chaos that led to the battlefield, after crossing the screams of agony from the soldiers and the clinks of metal as swords collided, Jon reached him at last. He readied Longclaw, holding his Valyrian blade firmly, and charged with Ghost by his side. But he Leader heard him coming, and turned to him.

Jon felt no fear as his eyes met his cold blue dead ones. He ran past the sea of corpses that laid throughout the battlefield. He ran with high velocity, ready to strike hard and true. But then, the leader rose his arms to the air slowly. 

Jon froze on his tracks, why was he not attacking? And then he understood. All of the fallen soldiers near him suddenly opened their eyes. Eyes that no longer had life. The leader turned with the rest of the White Walkers and Jon’s eyes widened when he realized he was setting towards the Godswood.

The cries of the wights next to him brought him back to his senses. Ghost growled and Jon screamed at each swing of his sword. He was an exceptional warrior, he knew so. As much luxury it seemed to recognize so, he was no fool. He was good at fighting. But he was a man too. And men had limits that not even the gods could help them overcome. No words could ever be enough to describe the pain of his wounds or how sore his muscles felt. He fought more by instinct than by will, for his mind was fainting slowly making his vision glassy.

He was an exceptional warrior with a dire-wolf beside him, and still…

_ It was not enough. _

There were far too many for him cope with. Though he was never one to give up on swords, there was a reality for him to face. Unless… 

Piercing the fog from the skies, the roar of a dragon made presence. A roar that came with Fire and Blood. Queen Daenerys landed her black dragon on the ground and commanded Drogon to burn the Others that surrounded Jon. The Mother of Dragons straightened to look at him.

“My brother, Your Grace!” Jon shouted, “They are coming for him!”

“Go, Jon Snow!” the Queen ordered.

Without hesitation, he made his way back to the courtyard of the castle, avoiding the touch of Drogon’s flames. There he found another dragon. But this one breathed fire with shades of blue. While Jon was evading it, he stumbled upon his sister Arya, who was with the Hound and Brienne of Tarth.

“Arya! It is Bran!” Jon said without stopping from running, “Quickly, come!”

His sister and her companions followed him. More warriors joined along the way as they saw them sprinting through the middle of the courtyard. Once they were reaching the Godswood, Jon realized that behind his back were Arya, who only now he realized had Nymeria besides her; Brienne, The Hound, Tormund Giantsbane, Arianne Martell, Aegon, the Unsullied Grey Worm, Gendry Waters and Meera Reed.

The greatest warriors of Westeros’ today all gathered on the Heart Tree to fight the embodiment of death itself. If they would have come a second later, it would have been too late.

In the Godswood Jon found Asha Greyjoy standing as the sole protection his little brother had from the White Walkers. With a battle scream, he charged towards the leader with the rest of the fighters behind him. All of them exchanged into a fight with one of the Others. Although they were dead, no one could ever deny their skills with their weapons of ice. Even the greatest warriors struggled to stand their ground.

Jon felt the world spinning about him. Everything seemed to move slowly and circular around him. He saw some of his companions shatter some White Walkers, he also saw Arianne Martell and the sorrow of her husband as fer life faded from her soul. His own fight was the hardest one, the very first White Walker could not be stopped. 

But Jon continued to swing his sword. And he fought, and fought, and fought. Until he managed to scratch the leader’s shoulder with Longclaw’s edge.

He looked at Jon with bewildered blue eyes, and all of his dead soldiers stopped from moving. He backed away, the Others with him, and retreated from the Godswood as if turning invisible, one with the night. Jon realized then that the Others were risking too much. There was a way to win this fight. But if they had fallen back it was only to come again with their forces doubled.

Jon knew there was no way they could keep up with this fight. He then spotted a vast group of people entering through the forest. His sister Sansa was leading them all with a torch in one hand and a dragonglass dagger in the other. 

At that very moment, Queen Daenerys reached the Godswood, landing Drogon on a stone wall. He could see the red of her eyes even from where she stood, but there was no time for tears now. An idea crossed his mind.

“Your Grace! Fly around the caste! The dead have fallen back just for now! Order all of our men you can find to go south. To go as south as Riverrun. To go by horse, by foot or by cart if need be, but to go as fast as their legs can carry them! Go now, we have no time!”

And so she flew, and almost immediately, their soldiers were heading towards the Heart Tree. Jon led all of the people that were with him out of the castle, he himself pushing Bran on his chair. And they ran, and ran, and ran. Men, women, children, they all ran through the misty forest making way towards the south.

Most of the torches had extinguished by then, making them fall into complete darkness. With his sight gone, sound resonated within Jon’s head three times as strong. He could hear their desperate steps against the snow as war drums. He could hear the breathes and the pants and the cries. He could hear people falling or giving up on their escape. Voices, voices, voices… He felt he could die as they echoed against his eardrums.

“Gilly?!” he heard the voice of his friend Samwell speak, “Gilly, is that you?!”

“Sam?!” Jon heard her reply.

“Gilly, my arm! Help me with Heartsbane!”

“Sansa!” He heard the scream of Tyrion Lannister, “Where are you?!”

“Here, Tyrion!” his sister replied, “Jeyne, come on! We must go!”

“Theon!” Jon heard someone voice, “Theon! Sansa, Theon is not here! Sansa…. Theon!”

“He’s gone Jeyne…”

“Nymeria, to me!” he also heard his sister Arya say, “Keep close to me girl.”

Queen Daenerys then appeared through the sky, both of her dragons lighting the path below with fire against the clouds. With more light now, Jon could see how far they have already gone. 

From where he stood, he turned to the castle that had been his home for so many years. A castle that was now blazing under blue flames. A castle where Winter had Fallen.


	42. TYRION XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for such a long wait, moving into uni took a lot of time! And sorry to now rush my writing, but I need to get this done before my workload gets worse. Anyways, I do hope you enjoy, drop some comments!

“I am done for.”

“You are not.”

“Truly, I believe I can stand now.”

“You don’t have to pretend to be strong, Sansa,” he said softly as he ran his fingers through her hair, “at least not when you have me by your side. I know you still feel sick, go on, continue.”

It had barely passed a day ever since their arrival to Riverrun. By the time all the survivors reached the ancient seat of House Tully, it was difficult not to notice the losses from the Army of the Living. Nearly three-quarters of their forces had fallen in battle.  _ And by now, they are most likely marching along the Others,  _ Tyrion thought, and the memory of Jaime made a sudden appearance in his mind. But he shook his thoughts away before tears could dwell in his eyes. Ser Jorah Mormont had fallen too. Even his exceptional skills in battle had not been enough to save him from this terrible fate.

Daenerys had not taken his death lightly, nor how injured Rhaegal was after the battle. But what had affected her the most was the sight of her own child, Viserion, fighting against her. She hid all her sorrow behind her mask as she encouraged all the survivors on the Long Run towards Riverrun, but Tyrion knew better, her heart was broken.

The memory of the run pained him so. He could still hear the screams of agony and falling of dead men against the snow banging upon his eardrums. They had run for days, through mist and shadow, and not all of them made it until the end. The ones who did survive, highborn and smallfolk alike, were left in the most pitiful of states. Tyrion’s cloak and clothes were ragged and filled with mud, and his face covered with scratches of dry blood.

Sansa had gained scratches of her own as she had fought bravely against the Others back in the crypts. But now, all his wife could do was throw her sickness up in the privy from one of Riverrun’s chambers. The Long Run had left her weak and trembling, with skin paler than it used to be.

“We should call your uncle’s Maester,” Tyrion suggested, “surely he would help us find you a remedy for this.”

Sansa only waved his worries with her hand, “I am certain it is nothing, Tyrion.”

“Life of mine,” he said lifting her gaze to his with a hand under her chin. He cupped her cheek, “we  _ will  _ call the Maester.”

She nodded softly in defeat leaning into his touch. Kissing his palm tenderly, she stood.

By the time Grand Maester Vyman of Riverrun arrived, Jeyne Poole, Sansa’s childhood friend; had come to their chambers with clothes soaked in cold water for his wife’s forehead. The two of them had been inseparable since the Battle of Winterfell, remaining ever so close as if they were sisters bound by blood. After all, Sansa was everything poor Jeyne was clinging to, and Tyrion knew how much his wife trusted her friend.

Knowing Sansa would be left in good hands, Tyrion retreated from the room in hopes to find the Dragon Queen. Yet he could not spot her anywhere. 

After strolling for long hours about the halls and yards of Riverrun, he finally gave up on his search for the Queen. On her stead, Tyrion stumbled upon Lady Arya Stark who was looking over the distance of the Riverlands on the castle’s battlements. One of her eyes was purple with a bruise and several scars had been drawn on her face. The battle had not treated her gently. Her long-lost dire-wolf was waving its tail by her side. He approached to her with loud steps to make his presence be known.

“You don’t need to walk so loudly for me to notice you little Imp brother,” she said, though not unkindly. She didn’t move her eyes from the horizon, “I heard you coming a long while now.”

_ The girl has some skills,  _ Tyrion,  _ she’s a warrior like no other, without doubt. _

Keeping his distance, he placed himself besides her dire-wolf, joining his glance with hers into admiring the red sun meeting the horizon. 

After a short while, she finally turned to him, “how is my sister?”

“She is currently being attended by the Maester of the castle. Her friend Jeyne is with her.”

Arya returned her eyes to the sky, “do you think we will stay here for long?”

Tyrion shook his head, “No. I don’t believe so…”

“I wish we could stay more time here in Riverrun,” Arya said and breathed heavily through her nose, though she seemed to be speaking more to herself than to him. “These lands remind me of my lady mother.”

“It is quite a pleasant kingdom,” he said softly, “but winter is coming. We are to leave as soon as we can before the army of the dead comes.”

At that, the direwolf Nymeria approached to him. She was so big that she stood at the same level of his mismatched eyes.  _ Not that I am much of a challenge in height,  _ Tyrion bitterly thought. Growing bold, he rested a hand on the top of the wolf’s head, and in response he earned a lick on his face which tickled his scars and recent wounds making him genuinely smile.

When he looked up, he found Arya grinning down at him. “She likes you.” she said, and Tyrion could have sworn to have heard tenderness in her words. “Well, you are part of the pack after all. You are good for my sister, Tyrion. And you are good for the North.”

He felt his chest flutter. Though he was once proud of bearing the Lannister name, he never truly belonged amongst the lions. To know he now had a place in a family, his wife’s family, almost teared him down to tears.

After a few moments more in the company of Arya Stark, Tyrion turned to make his way out of the battlements.

“Tyrion…” Arya called him back. He could see her struggling to find her words. “I was there. With Jaime. I was there when he passed…” She looked at her feet, and with a large breath, laid her eyes on his. “He died bravely, Tyrion. He died with honor.”

This time, he did not prevent his tears from falling.

He found the room empty, and rushed to the bed where his wife rested in quick steps without even bothering on taking off his muddy boots. Sansa straightened her back against the bed’s headboard and received him with open arms and a kiss. Tyrion felt his soul fly up to the Seven Heavens as she ran her fingers through his curls. 

Swallowing the beauty of her face at his close distance, he could see the wounds of the battle against her pale skin. Wounds that reminded him of how Joffrey’s cruelty looked on her flesh back in King’s Landing. A shiver was sent down his spine and a pang of guilt hit the pit of his stomach.

“What did Maester Vyman say, Sansa?” he worriedly asked, gently pushing a lock of her loose hair behind her ear. “Are you alright?”

She nodded with a soft smile playing about her lips. “Yes, my love. He said it is only the shock of the battle and the long journey here, that is all.”

There was something queer on how she twisted her eyebrows and how she avoided his eyes that made Tyrion frown in doubt. Yet before he could question her words, a knock on the door announced Missandei of Naath into the room, bringing news of a war plan meeting called by Daenerys herself. Sansa decided to stay and rest as the Maester had suggested, and after kissing her sweet lips, Tyrion made his path towards Riverrun’s Great Hall.

The Queen was more urgent on leaving than what Tyrion expected her to be. She gave her command that the surviving forces were to leave within the two hours. The army of the dead was breathing on the back of their necks, and if they were lucky they would reach King’s Landing only moments before the Others do. Tyrion was to be present in the battle, though Daenerys made it perfectly clear he was to stay behind arranging the necessary battle strategies. Bran was set to go with him, to be of aid with his abilities.

Lord Edmure Tully offered the forces and swords from Riverrun and the Houses of the Riverlands. In addition, he made arrangements for the evacuation of his lands. The men were to fight while the women and children would join those of the North to Dragonstone, traveling in ships Asha Greyjoy had offered and under the protection of only a handful of Unsullied. 

Young Griff offered the support of what remained of the Golden Company once more. But there was something odd about the boy…  _ He just lost his wife, dwarf,  _ he told himself,  _ what would you do if you were to lose Sansa? _

With everything settled, the meeting was dismissed in order to make the necessary preparations for yet another journey. Tyrion lost no time in guiding his feet to his wife.

She, once again, received him in the comeliest manner possible. 

“I’m sorry, Sansa,” he told her with his eyebrows arched down, “We are not to spend the night here. I know you will not want to listen me, but you must part to Dragonstone among the other ladies and children. Please, Sansa, you must goー”

She quickly placed two of her fingers on his lips and then silenced him with a soft kiss. Then, she took his hand, kissed his blunted fingers, and leaned into his touch against her cheek. “I know.” she said almost as a whisper.

Tyrion was taken aback, he expected her to be more stubborn than this. She chuckled at his widened eyes and pushed some of his curls away from his forehead.

“Fate keeps keeping us apart doesn’t it?” she said, “But I understand, this time I must go. This is a war I cannot fight, not now. But Tyrion…” she took his hands into hers and squeezed them tightly. “You  _ must _ come back to me, do you understand? You  _ must. _ ”

He felt his chest rise high. He made no false promises giving her only the sweetest kiss he could give.

Aching to be given more chance to remain in her embrace, Tyrion helped Sansa into her ship and watched her silhouette on the deck for as long as he could as she sailed away from him once more.

_ My dear wife, I will miss you so. _


	43. SANSA X

“It is a miracle,” the Maester had said.

  
Sansa smiled to herself remembering his words.  _ Good. Tyrion likes miracles, I’m sure.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapters will be about the battle of KL, update might take another while oop-


	44. DAENERYS III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really sorry for this long wait!!!!   
> Uni has been keeping me too busy, but now I am back and even with an end!  
> pls leave your kudos :)

The march towards King’s Landing began as soon as Queen Daenerys saw the last ship set sail towards Dragonstone with the rest of the Iron Fleet. Some of the women did stay to fight, but the majority left towards the islands taking their children by their hands. There was a small part of Dany that wanted to part with them. To have that need of a mother to protect her children and guide them to safety.  _ Safety,  _ she thought bitterly,  _ what a fragile word…  _ It was the greatest of her wishes that her orders would guide these people towards safety, but there was nothing in her power, not even her dragons, that could guarantee such a thing.

After a call from Riverrun, the bannermen of House Tully joined the march with all their people. The entire population of the Riverlands was now marching along with the army of the living. Most of them were not true warriors, yet they needed every sword they could. They also brought horses with them, though not enough for all the people walking towards the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. Looking at these horses made Dany’s heart grow small within her chest. Only barely more than a dozen of Dothraki had survived the Battle of Winterfell. Her khalasar had all given up their lives under Daenerys’ orders, and even though she knew none of this was fault of hers, she couldn’t prevent the pang of guilt that constantly hit the pit of her stomach as she rode Drogon over the caravan of marching men.

The cold winds of the dead were breathing down their necks making every man and woman stand on edge in fear and worry. Winter was marching down with them at every step they took. Snow painted the vast green fields of the Riverlands covering every footstep and traces of life. Daenerys knew they ought to not risk it, but the army of the living had already traveled down the Neck running for their lives with little less than a breath before parting South again. She knew a break was most needed, for even her dragons were growing more tired by each second passed. And so, she gave the orders, and everyone did as she bid.

Daenerys distanced herself from the group to tend her dragons. Drogon had a few injuries along his black skin of scales, yet he bore them proudly and with courage. Rhaegal had taken the worst of it. She was aware that the so-called Three Eyed Raven boy had warged into her child, but as expected a dragon is better without the chains of a human.  _ Unless that human is a Targaryen of course,  _ she thought, her teeth unbiddenly gritting. For a brief moment, Dany allowed herself to lose her sight upon the distance. The sun was setting on the horizon of the Seven Kingdoms and the beauty of that image had her feeling awfully sorrowful inside. This was the land she was destined to conquer, the land she has fought to reach for so many years… yet everything seemed so foreign, so unfamiliar, so empty and lost.

Tears were about to shape the corners of her eyes when footsteps drew her attention to the young bastard of Winterfell as he made his way towards where she stood. Dany felt her tummy flutter. 

“How are they faring?” Jon Snow asked standing beside her as she soothed Rhaegal’s injured wing.

“Getting better,” Dany replied dryly, though she could hardly swallow a strange knot that had formed about her throat. She could tell Jon Snow noticed the tension in her tone, “How are your men?”

“Not as well as I’d wish them to be,” he said looking to the his feet in defeat. “They are restless and weak. Most of them terribly wounded from the battle before and now they are being thrown into another one. My friend Sam… he had always dreamed of becoming a Maester, but he has lost his writing and sword hand. I set him off to Dragonstone with the rest of them. While it’s true we need every man we can we cannot afford burdens on the battlefield.”

At every word that left his mouth Daenerys grew more suspicious, bothered and enraged. There was something about his presence that set her in distress. 

“Why are you here, Jon Snow?” she asked turning abruptly to him.

“Queen Daenerys I onlyー”

“Queen?” she chuckled, “Am I one, though? As far as we both know you took that crown from me!”

Jon Snow opened his mouth to say something but quickly pursed his lips together. Whatever he meant to say was clearly not worth this troublesome time. Closing his eyes, he turned his head to the horizon taking a deep breath. He then turned his sight to hers with calmer eyes.

“I was born and raised in Winterfell along one of the greatest families Westeros has ever seen. I was given food, and training, and siblings and education, yet never given the recognition as a Stark. I was bound to them by blood in a world where only the name matters, and Snow cursed me to be look at and taken for nothing more than a bastard. And bastards, in the end, have no families. I went to the Wall then, to make brothers out of the Night’s Watch men. And though I made friends it was never the same. Though I love my sisters and brothers from Winterfell with all my heart can bear, it was never the same as to have a real family. I had always wondered where my mother came from, who I truly was.

“And in the spur of a moment I not only found out who she was but also that my father was not Lord Eddard Stark but your brother, Rhaegar Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne. A burden that is now weighted upon me. It might be that I don’t want it, yet it is my right. What I have for a long time desired is family. A family fully bound by blood. And I’ve never had that…”

Jon Snow’s words pierced Dany’s heart as a thousand needles and one. She turned her gaze to Rhaegal placing a hand upon his skin. She was at loss of words, and too moved to speak or even look at Jon.

“Until now.” he said as faint as a whisper.

Her lungs skipped a breath and her eyes opened in wide surprise. From anything Jon Snow could have said, those words were the very least she’d expected to hear from him. She turned slowly to him, careful to keep her sight from growing any more glassy. Her will to speak was even more unwilling to come from her lips now. Knowing not what to do, she only stared at him, her eyebrows arched to the ground, her beating heart hammering quicker by the minute.

“It might be true that I don’t know you, who you are, what you like or everything that you had to endure before coming here. And you do not know me. Nothing about me.” He frowned a bit, and Dany could tell he was troubled on what to say next. With careful steps, as if he were approaching a wild beast, he narrowed their distance and placed a doubtful hand a few inches shy from the beginning of her shoulder. Dany felt her cheeks redden. “But we are family now, you and I.”

Fighting the urge to lean into his touch, she placed her upon his and nodded slightly with a faint yet hopeful smile. “Family,” she echoed, the word leaving the sweetest of tastes on her lips. “the last of the Targaryens.”

“I am sorry for the throne, Dany, for the crown, your birthright, for everything I by no means took from you,” Jon said, “but we will find a way after all this. Yet first, our concerns should only fall on matters of the army of the dead.”

All his words were nothing but a mumble, except for one. “Dany?” she let a small amused laugh out, “By all the gods, I don’t think anyone has ever called me that ever since I was but a small child.”

Jon scoffed, and said nothing lowering his eyelids to the ground. Rhaegal, then, turned his head towards them… No… towards  _ Jon Snow _ . The young man jumped back in surprise, but her dragon only approached him once more. Fear left his eyes for what Dany took as tenderness, bringing a soft smile to her face. Placing a hand on top of his large head, Jon ran his palm along Rhaegal’s scales. Daenerys had never seen a stranger bond to one of her dragons in such way before. An idea was very quick to cross to her thoughts.

“Very well,” Dany said with a grin, “if you really want to embrace your Targaryen legacy, why not do it now?”

“Your Grace?” he asked in pardon confusion.

Daenerys rolled her eyes.  _ He calls me Grace now but he’d take that title from me as quick as the wind.  _ Even though she wanted to, Dany could not bring herself to be cross at the boy, and that is what frustrated her the most. 

“To ride a dragon, Lord Jon Slow.”

Jon’s black eyebrows knit together tightly, making his eyes narrow. Had his expression come from her jape or her suggestion, she had not a slightest clue. “A dragon?!” he cleared his throat then, gathering all his thoughts, “Forgive me, Dany, they are gorgeous creatures indeed but I-... ride them? I don’t think I can.”

“A Targaryen you say you are, well, I have never heard of a Targaryen that had a dragon by his side and did not ride it.” Dany crossed her arms.

“Aegon the Third?” Jon asked lowering one eyebrow, “the rumours said he was even afraid of them.”

“Close your mouth, Jon Snow. If I remember correctly, I saved you from death North of the Wall on a  _ dragon’s  _ back, so it must be nothing new for you. Now, come along.”

Whereas Dany mounted on Drogon with great easiness, Jon struggled so much getting on Rhaegal’s back that she could not help but chuckle loudly. Once she made sure Jon was holding on tightly, she leaned towards Drogon’s head and whispered, “Valahd.”

As soon as Drogon’s claws parted from the ground Rhaegal followed, and Jon’s screams of fear rose until the high winds of the sky deafened them. Dany turned to him, and saw Jon trying to balance himself on the dragon. His worries all turned into laughs of wonder, and she could not remember the time her tummy was last jumping with such joy. 

The ride of dragons offered her an escape. From this world, from the war, from every other living man. High above in the sky, there were no lands or castles, only the clouds, the sun and the stars to come. High above in the sky, there was only her and her dragons. And Jon Snow…

Her only family.

As every good memory, the dragon back ride had to eventually come to an end, and so Daenerys lowered Drogon to land upon the ground and of course, so did Rhaegal still carrying Jon on his back. Dany sighed in relief to see he had not fallen.

Once she stepped down from her dragon, she realized they were not alone. The figure of a young man with arms crossed upon his chest welcomed her sight with not so welcoming eyes. In the light of dusk, those eyes looked a brighter shade of purple. And they were angry, angry as never before.

“Are you two done playing?” Young Griff said, each word filled with more hatred than the one before. “There is a war chasing down upon us, the little half man says it is past the time we parted. So I would suggest you two stop whatever nonsense this is and lead your armies” He was about to make his leave when he turned his gaze towards Daenerys with a bitter angry smile of greed, “Why, Aunt Daenerys, you have never invited me on a dragon myself? Why the bastard over the rightful  _ King _ ?”

At that, Drogon crawled his way towards Young Griff and roared the greatest of screeches. The boy widened his eyes in fear and parted as quick as his legs could carry him.

The rest of the journey to King’s Landing was shorter than expected, yet at the same time it felt like an eternity to Dany. Her conversations with Jon increased, though, but so did the tension between them and the Targaryen impostor. Once they reached the outskirts of the city, Tyrion Lannister gathered all remaining lords to meet for a war plan meeting.

“As you might all know,” Tyrion said as they all stood in a circle in the open. There were no maps no figures this time, but her clever hand had drawn it all on the ground with the branch of a bush devising his plan. “ there is little planning we can actually do. The dead are right behind our footsteps bringing the winter storm with them. As soon as we reach King’s Landing they will be arriving too. We would be lucky to have my sister, Queen Cersei, opening up the city gates for the whole lot of us, but that is not likely. We all know how vile she can oft be. If the gates do not open, we’ll fight outside the city. King’s Landing might not be the least sinful of cities, but those people have nothing but the Lannister and Euron Greyjoy’s forces as protection, and from everything that we saw back in Winterfell, that is not enough.”

“So we fight for them? We fight and die for your sister who insulted us with her betrayal?” Young Griff scoffed a laugh, “Let them die, we should go further south, I have acquaintances in the Stormlands and Dorne. We shouldー”

“ _ We _ should fight for  _ your  _ kingdom, wouldn’t you think so, Aegon? For your throne, unless you care not for it, of course.” Tyrion snapped looking coldly at the boy. Dany’s chest rose in pride. Young Griff pursed his lips and looked away never speaking again. 

The quick meeting carried on with Lord Royce and the Blackfish giving more ideas to the plan. Lord Edmure Tully did his contributions as well as Jon Snow, Grey Worm and the Captain of the Golden Company, at least what remained of it. Lord Tyrion suggested that if they were to find a way into the city, he would take Little Lord Bran Stark to the Godswood of the Keep with a handful of soldiers. “I might not be much of a man,” he had said, “but at least I want to face the end protecting the family my wife has given me, since I have lost my own.”

“Davos, do you know the whereabouts of my sister?” Jon asked Lord Davos once the meeting was aking an end.

“Well, Jon Snow, you have two. The tall one or the small?”

Jon laughed slightly, “Arya, of course, have you mayhaps seen her?”

“I have, not too long ago. She was with Sandor Clegane, last time I saw her. Since then, I know nothing of her whereabouts nor his.”

Jon frowned, “well, she’ll come by soon, I’m sure.”

* * *

It was Euron Greyjoy who received them standing on top of the city gates. Every single crossbow was pointed towards them. His cunning smile and attitude of course demonstrated he had not a single intention on letting them through.  _ He might have the power of the city,  _ Dany thought gritting through her teeth,  _ but he doesn’t have my power. The blood of the dragon.  _

She flew Drogon to the top of the gates to stand above Euron Greyjoy. Many Lannister Soldiers ran in despair and some had the nerve to shoot their crossbows, but the bolts were a mere jape against Drogon’s skin. Rhaegal soon followed to stand behind the Crow’s Eye with Jon on its back. 

“Open the gates now,” Dany ordered, “the dead are coming and the people of this city needs our protection.”

“You see, dear little dragon,” Said Euron grinning, “the Queenー”

“The Queen, is ordering for these gates to open, or I will have no mercy upon you, Euron Greyjoy.”

“If you think I fear yoー”

The Crow’s Eye would never get to voice his final words as Rhaegal devoured his head in the spur of seconds. Daenerys gazed at Jon in utter shock while he wore an apologetic look on his face.

“My apologies, Dany, but we have no time for this. Bran  _ needs  _ to go through the gates.”

Once she managed to get back to her senses, she nodded understanding.

As the gates opened, the entire army of the living made their way through. WIth no time to evacuate the citizens of King’s Landing, all Dany could do was wish their swords would be enough to protect her people. She caught Lord Tyrion looking up to her over the crowd. It was the kind of look no one liked to see on the faces they hold dear. The look of farewell. Dany could only offer a sad smile and a nod to him to express all the gratitude she felt for his service. This might be the Last Goodbye she would ever bid her hand, and upon that realization, sorrow brought tears to her eyes.

But there was no time for those tears to ever fall. Through the grey clouds, the deafening screech of a dragon pierced the winds of winter, and as a shadow, Viserion came into view in the sky, and so did the army of the dead on the ground. In this lighter light than the battle before, Dany could see how her former child’s scale had lost their shade of gold to a tone of pale bone. Half of his face was nearly gone and his eyes were replaced by the hue of dead blue. Mounted on it was the King of Winter, the King of the Dead, the King of the Night.

The Dragon ignored the army of the living completely making his way towards his true goal, the Three-Eyed Raven. But they would not be defeated, not this time. As Jon and Daenerys set their dragons to the chase after Viserion, the Battle for the Iron Throne had hereby begun.


	45. JON V

_ Bran,  _ was the first thought that ran through Jon’s mind as the King of the Night rode on his dragon towards the Godswood of King’s Landing. By this time, Tyrion must have already reached it with his little brother and a handful of soldiers, but they would certainly not be enough against the leader of the Others, a living dead let alone a dragon.

they had to take leader down, he and Daenerys, otherwise they would be done and this time for all its good. Riding a dragon with her had been a wonder the first time. To feel the wind dance against his cheek, to be high and far from the land… it made him feel powerful. It made him feel a King. It was different this time, though. This time he was riding not for amusement but for war, and there was no joy that Jon could ever find in a battle, not even on a dragon’s back.

Flying at the height he was, the city looked no larger than a dragonfly. The Red Keep rose high above anything else. The seat of the Kings of the Seven Kingdoms, the place where his blood father was born. Looking down at all the tiny houses, Jon could not help but wonder how many innocent lives would perish in this cruel battle.

_ Gods, if any of you can hear me, _ Jon thought in silent prayer,  _ keep Bran safe under your branches, protect Arya and Ghost on the battlefield, and let no harm come to Sansa. _

Closing his eyes, wishing safety to his young siblings was all in his power to offer. The sound of clashing steel drove him back to his senses. The battle on the land had begun, and when Jon opened his eyes there was a fury and determination like no other. Drogon was much faster than any of the three dragons, but flying very right behind him Rhaegal was almost as quick. In no time at all they had caught up to the King of the Night. Noticing he would no longer be able to reach the Godswood without a fight, he turned his glance towards Jon and Dany, his harsh blue eyes piercing his soul with fear.

With a gulp and a tug on Rhaegal’s scales, Jon leaned the dragon towards the dead, Dany following right beside him. The Dance of Dragons had begun.

There were sharp bites and tails swinging like whiplashes. At each hit, at each blow, at each wound, it grew harder for Jon to keep himself in balance. That only made his respect for Dany grow, it seemed so natural for her to stand straight on Drogon’s back even in a fight, but this was not the time for admiration and compliments. Almost without his notice, Viserion’s tail went swinging towards him, missing him by barely an inch as he dodged in just time.

The storm of snow was making it hard to see and hold. His feet kept slipping along Rhaegal’s scales and everything was almost a blur. If it weren’t for the orange and blue flames the dragons were breathing they would have been completely lost. Flying like the shadow of a lighting bolt, Daenerys launched Drogon towards the King of the Night. His dragon cried loudly in pain. Even through the blizzard, Jon could see the tears falling down Dany’s eyes. In this cold, they quickly turned into ice against her cheeks, but she did not even flinch or bothered to wipe them as she never ceased her attacks. Viserion was her child once, after all, Jon would never understand the sorrow the Mother of Dragons was enduring as she fought against it.

In his distraction, this time he did not miss the senior White Walker’s blow that sent him flying through the winter airs. In his fall, he thanked in his mind that they were for that moment flying at a low height. Even so, the ground was growing closer at each falling inch, and he knew it would take more than gratefulness to survive this impact. Rhaegal was falling with him, his eyes rolling white dead and blood leaking through his neck. Jon did his best in positioning himself before him, so that the giant beast would not fall upon him. 

  
The ground then came, and everything turned pitch black.


	46. CERSEI II

Standing inside the tallest tower of Maegor’s Holdfast from her window, Cersei Lannister had seen it all. Two dragons reaching the city gates, the enemy forces breaching them, the covering of King’s Landing by mist as if a mantle of silk had men thrown across the sky, the unexpected storm of snow and the arrival of the dead. Clearly, the Little Dragon Queen and the Bastard of Winterfell had lost the Battle in the North and had now brought it down to the South. Her heart drove her mind to thoughts of Jaime. Had he survived? Will she ever know?

The battle in the sky had not being kind to the one on the land. She could see all the fires that now ignited the city, flames red and blue alike, the clash of Ice and Fire. The casualties of the fight of dragons had brought up the Seven Hells upon the city. Even a top her high tower, she could hear the screams of men, the pleas of women and the cries of children. All their lives perished by either the flames or swords of bones. Cersei wouldn’t lie to herself, she never cared for them. The people. But now that she had no one to careful, she could not prevent her eyes from tears.

The dragons were fighting too near to the palace now, the Red Keep was being set aflame. 

“Your Grace,” Qyburn insisted once more as he had for the past hour, “It is time to go. We need to leave  _ now.”  _

It was only when the second dragon fell from the sky when Cersei reacted to it all. She moved as in a dream when Qyburn and the Mountain took her down the stairs of the Keep, the ceiling crumbling above their heads. Everything moved fast and slow about her. She remembered visions of Ser Sandor Clegane, her loyal Hand’s head smashed against a wall… everything was a blur to her, and she had not the slightest of ideas on how she found her path to the map courtyard. Its paint was now covered by snow,  _ or is it ash?  _ Cersei could not tell. Husky cracks spread cutting the map in the North, the East, the South, cracks all along the kingdoms.

She was about to close her eyes and give herself to the defeat when a limping figure caught her sight. His her was messy with dust and a large beard covered his once neatly shaved chin. His glance shined with Lannister green and one of his hands with gold. 

Cersei felt the air leaving her lungs in a knock. She let out a loud cry of relief, a weep of joy. The world was fallen apart, but she was back with her lover, the only man in the world. Running towards him, she lost no time in wrapping him under her embrace. He returned the embrace, though his arms were not as sweet as she recalled.  _ There is something different about is touch… _

Leaving her face from the crook of his neck, he turned her eyelids towards his, tears never leaving her eyes.

“Jaime,” she mumbled, “you are back.”

He scoffed a small laugh and looked down as she brushed a hand across his cheek.  _ Why is he so silent?  _

He placed his hand upon hers making her heart flutter. She wanted to ask him all the forgiveness in the world, and to voice how deep abiding her love for him was. Yet as soon as she opened her mouth to speak, his hand ran from her hand to her throat, choking her breath and soul.

_ And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you. _

She closed her eyes as if that could keep her from seeing or hearing Maggy the Frog’s twisted voice inside her mind. Her cries of joy turned to pain, turned to sorrow. She felt her cheeks grow purple and blood pumping on her eyes. Her sight was not lost, though, and with her eyebrows bent downwards she stared at her one and only love in agony and confusion.

Jaime grinned the eeriest smile Cersei had ever seen on his face. When he finally let go of her neck, she collapsed to the floor, coughs bidding the best out of her breath. She ran her fingers across her throat feeling the marks of his fingers taking place. 

“Jaime,” she said with a voice raspy and dry like the sands over Dorne as she looked up to her twin brother. Only she didn’t find him. Instead, the figure of a woman almost grown stood tall above her. At first glance, Cersei found it hard to tell who she was. But then, she would never forget those angry grey eyes. The giant direwolf that appeared lurking behind the girl cleared any of her remaining doubts.

“You-” Cersei spat, blood burning inside her throat, “You are the little Stark beast! Wild and dirty as you always used to be. What is this sorcery, what have you done to my brother.?!”

“Me?” asked the young Lady Stark in full mockery, a cunning look written on her face. “Oh I truly did nothing. If I recall correctly, he died bravely keeping honor to his word until the very last. He even knighted someone on his dying breath. What a true proof of love, wouldn’t you agree, Queen Cersei?”

“What are you doing here?” Cersei hissed as the Red Keep roared in crumbles, “What could you possibly want from me? Don’t you see I am already being buried by my own sins?”

“Oh, Queen Cersei, It will take much more than bricks to mend all your sins…” the girl leaned down towards her level grabbing her chin with tight hate. Lady Arya drew her tiny skinny sword and ran it along Cersei’s cheek. Still hurting from the choke, Cersei found herself unwilling to move. Fear ran through every fiber of her body as she waited in silent prayer for what was next in her fate. 

The Stark girl pierced her eyes upon hers, and as quiet as a shadow she whispered…

“The North Remembers.”

The sword ran through her throat making the copper taste of blood being the last thing Cersei would savour from this world.


	47. JON VI

The cry of a dragon falling from the skies welcomed Jon to open his eyes. After having darkness covering his sight for such a long time, the light of this battle abruptly ran through his eyelids making his head swing and ring. Jon frowned tightly in pain as he one by one felt all the wounds from his fall take life against his skin. His ribs were broken, he was sure, and he thought he had lost a leg when at first he could not move it at all.

Looking up to the sky chasing the sound of the dragon that woke him up, Jon saw the big shadow of a blur falling helplessly into the heart of the Red Keep. Through fast blinks, he gained his sight back and saw it was Viserion the one who took the fall. Sighing in relief that Daenerys was still alive, his breath brought him to cough blood into the ground, or what he thought was the ground. 

Jon had landed on top of an open wound Rhaegal’s body. Dragons might have strong skin, but it soothed the fall from one upon concrete or stone. He was now bathed in dragon’s blood that ran down one side of his face, making Jon’s skin feel warm and sticky. He could not claim to have been too attached to the dragon, yet seeing him lying down on the white land of snow, his mouth hanging open from a broken jaw, threatened to bring tears to his eyes.

But this was war, and Jon more than anyone knew that there was never time to weep in the battlefield. Gathering all the strength left within him, he rose to his feet with his wounds stinging him like needles. He spun around trying to focus on his surroundings and stumbled across one of the most sorrowful looks his eyes had ever laid sight upon. All houses crumbled under the ardent dance of blue and orange flames. People ran and not even the children were excepted from perishing fatal ends. The smell of blood spread through the air like a pest and the shrieks of the dead were being carried to every corner of the city by the winds.

_ If Viserion fell into the Red Keep, then the King of the Others fell with him, _ Jon thought still attempting to gather all his senses back. Reaching for his waist he found that his sword belt had remained there in spite of the fall. Drawing Longclaw, Jon parted his way towards the palace.

His path there was alarmingly isolated. No friend nor foe was to be found along this side of the city and the alleys had only the company of ash and snow. With a hand holding his lower rib, Jon walked between limps. Out of the mist that surrounded him, the shape of a woman came to view. From all the gloominess the city now bore, she stood straight shining in bright red, mirroring the image of a living flame.

_ The Red Woman  _

How had she survived, Jon did not know. He had not seen her since the Battle of Winterfell, yet again, it was hard to keep track of everyone who followed in the Long March.

“Jon Snow.” she said plainly, her voice echoing through the streets.

“Lady Melisandre, you ought not to be here,” he replied walking past her, “sorceries will do no good in the scale of this battle, and I really need to go.”

She caught him by the wrist nonetheless, and he flinched in pain at the twist of a wound.

“Don’t be so sure, Jon Snow,” She replied never leaving her eyes from his. “If I still prevail it is for a reason. Azor Ahai’s fate is linked to mine, and when I asked our Lord of Light for a vision in the flames he only gave me snow… what a fool I have been to not know that the very answer was lying in front of my sight. You are the Prince who was promised, Jon Snow, and the safety of this Realm lies on the edge of your sword.”

“Lady Melisandre I need to leave nowー” he meant to part again, but once more she stopped him, this time with her hand wrapping his sharp blade. She raised Longclaw to stand halfway between their faces. Blood dripped red through her pale knuckles and she closed her eyes to pray in Valyrian. Jon could not help a gasp when flames were born out of his sword dancing wildly against the cold.

“Now go, Jon Snow, may the R’hollor light your path. May you draw this sword to make darkness flee and bring dawn upon this new world.”

Her words faded as he ran away towards the Red Keep, but with one last look back, Jon saw the loyal red priestess become one with dust.

  
  


* * *

Winterfell was nothing in size compared to the Keep. The seat of the Seven Kingdoms was an adorned maze, and with the ceilings crumbling upon the ground it only became even more difficult for Jon to find his way through the halls. He had seen Dany standing outside on Drogon’s back. She assured him the King of the Night had not left the palace, but he could read the great worry that remained in her place. Of course she thought he had not been defeated yet, he expected nothing else too. The dead kept walking and snows falling, there was one fight left and with his flaming sword by his side Jon felt more than ready for one last battle. He told Daenerys to leave with her dragon, to save as many people as she could find and set to the crisp any living corpse that might catch her sight.

Hereby, he was now alone, and after running corridor after corridor, he ended in a wide room with half its ceiling gone. Snow had found its way inside covering the ground and even the crumbles that had fallen in white mantle. Jon felt his chest grow cold and the hair behind his neck rise. By the middle end of the room, the infamous Iron Throne rose high as a tower. His gaze followed it up step by step, the thousand swords of Aegon’s enemies. 

The throne was as fearful to Jon as all its tales had told, but what really captured his breath away was the pair of blue ice eyes that sat upon it.

Standing with his crown of ice high above his head, the leader of the Others rose making his path down the throne. From his back, he drew his icicled and Jon steadied his flamed one on his front. If he was to survive this battle, if winter was under his hand to fall, Jon was sure singers and poets would make songs about how Ice and Fire fought for the Iron Throne.

No time was wasted for the two blades to clash. Jon had never been this close to the King of the dead. He did not look like any other of the wights or White Walkers. He had no flesh hanging from his ribs nor any trace of bones. He would mirror the image of any common man if it weren’t for that blue pale skin and damningful glowing eyes and unlike any of the Others, he did not even flinch at the sight of fire.

On they went, and on again, the snow falling above their heads. In the silence of the Throne Room, the collision of their swords echoed through the halls. The King was skillful with his blade, he attacked and Jon defended. At each blow, he waited, watching attentively for any weakness. On they went and on again, until Jon spotted what he was seeking. There was a gap in the leader’s armor at the very center of its core. He aimed his flamed sword towards it, yet failed miserably, gaining a cut on his cheek. If it weren’t for that inch missed, Jon would have certainly lost his nose.

Whereas Jon was beginning to tire, his foe’s strikes kept coming without great effort, what pain could a dead man feel? As their fight moved forward, Jon’s armor was not enough to keep cuts at bay. Oh how many were the scars to be left after it all ended. That is if he was to end this alive. With each blow from the King of Night he lost a share of hope. He was tired of fighting, his arms grew week and his heavy pants were drowning his breath. 

Everything happened in a heartbeat when Jon was knocked over, his back hard against the ground. His head rang deafeningly but he never let go his grip on the hilt of his sword. Rolling on his back, he dodge the blade of ice and spinning on his left foot he let his leg swing unto the back of the King’s knee. The leader of the Others now stood beneath him, and for the first time he bore a expression on his bitter face, his eyes were wide with defeat. 

Jon held Longclaw high above his head, its flames dancing intact against the winter air, and shoved it down the core of the Night King’s armor voicing the loudest of his screams. As soon as the fire touched it, the ice shattered into a million pieces and more, the icicles ringing like carols against the floor.

Jon fell upon one of his knees and weighted his balance to the tip of his sword on the ground. The fire had now died out of it, and so had the snow from the skies. The misty clouds made path for small rays of sunlight which all fell gracefully upon the Iron Throne, the birthright he had just found.

After holding his position for a long while catching up to his breath, footsteps drew his attention to the world.

It was Daenerys, running towards him. And as if a healing fountain had washed over him, Jon stood without effort feeling nothing else than the smile she had brought to his face. At the end of the world, they had both survived, and nothing felt more right than the warmth of her embrace. Once they parted from it, Jon could see that she was radiantly smiling herself. Her expression saddened quickly, though.

“Jon,” she said faintly, her eyelids lowered to the ground, “so many people have died. So many innocents, children….”

When she swallowed a sob Jon could not help himself but to kiss her forehead softly, breathing loudly through his nose. There was something about Dany he could not quite set his finger upon. He did not really know her, he would not lie to himself, but her presence made his heart quiver with joy.

“Half the city is destroyed, Jon”

And nothing else mattered to him than how his name sounded from her lips. 

“Then we will restore it. Together” he said holding her by the shoulders with reassurance. She nodded slightly and smiled. 

She never left her lilac eyes from his, and he was hypnotized by hers. He knew his glance was sinful, but he could not contain these feelings that were piling up his chest. The distance between them was closed, and for a moment nothing else existed in this world.

For a very brief moment.

Silence was pierced by the whistle of a flying arrow that met flesh. Its iron tip rose proudly through the top of Dany’s chest, quickly painting her dress with red. That arrow might have as well pierced through him as he saw life fading from her. She looked at him, eyes widened in both confusion and pain, and stumbled. Jon lowered himself to catch her before her fall. 

He looked up to see Young Griff standing tall with his bow. Blood and dust covered the entirety of his body, but it was the maddening expression in his eyes what frightened Jon the most.

“Do it together!” the boy echoed in utter rage while Jon still held Dany in his arms, “Why, I should have known the lots of you would steal the throne from me! Usurpers! It is you an me now bastard, Face me now andー”

The lad had asked for it. Before he could continue any of his spoiled whines Jon had drawn his dagger from his side and through it across meeting Young Griff’s throat. Now the Mummer’s Dragon had fallen, but so had the Mother of Dragons.

Reaching for Daenerys’ body again, Jon held her against him as she struggled to breath, streams of blood flowing down her mouth. Her lips were trembling and her eyes tearing.

“Jon,” she said, choking in her own words.

“Shhh,” Jon hushed brushing a hand across her forehead and down to her cheek. “Don’t talk, Dany. Stay with me…”

“It hurts…” Dany breathed her final phrase, her head dropping to one side, her eyes looking voidless upon the Iron Throne.

“Dany…” Jon whispered bringing her pale forehead against his.

He closed her eyes for her eternal rest, yet the expression of pain never left her face. His sight became glass making shards out of everything he set eyes upon. Not moving, not breathing, her heart no longer gave a beat. Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, the family he had just found was now gone forever.

_ How cruel you gods must be to bring me back to life only for yet another woman die in my arms with an arrow through her back. _

He raised his head to the clearing skies, a tight frown painted on his forehead, his breath quickened, his chest rising high. He wanted to scream at the Seven, the Old, the R’hollor or whomever had caused this malediction. Instead, he only allowed himself to cry. In heavy pants and sobs, he dropped his head defeated. And he weeped.

For what was worth to live a life if he would only wonder what would have been to have her by his side for at least a longer time.


	48. TYRION XII

The snow had ceased to fall, yet the winds still carried the ash making it dance against the light of the sun. Even from the far Godswood Tyrion could hear Drogon’s cries. He had never heard the dragon weep in such way before and immediately knew something was amiss.

Tyrion had seen the streets of King's Landing many many times before. It was a rotten and sinful city, breathing disgrace at every corner. But now, seeing it like this, snow melting upon fire, the smell of burning flesh, living man walking in agony aflame… Tyrion felt his heart break into a million shards as all these dreadful images passed by him on his way to the Red Keep.

In the midst of this vast catastrophe, his mind drifted to thoughts of Sansa. There was no guarantee of her safety, and her health was at the top of his worries. His friend Varys, is that was he could call him, was in Dragonstone too, but what protection could the eunuch ever offer to her wife? Tyrion had never been find of the gods, but with all the little power he at this moment had, he sent a prayer to whomever would listen to keep her safe. 

Drogon was nowhere to be seen, yet his weeps prevailed and seemed to come from inside the crumbled Keep. What remained of the army of the living was gathered at the steps outside the palace. Soldiers in Northern, Lannister, Riverland, Arryn and Unsullied armor, all standing together after fighting for the same cause, swords united against the dead. But now the Others gone and Spring had already began to melt the snow away. 

He was relieved to see Lady Arya amongst the crowd. Blood dripped from one side of her face and her body was covered in dust, as well as her direwolves furs. Tyrion recognized other familiar faces, but none were paying him mind, they were all waiting in complete silence for something to happen. For someone to come out of the Red Keep. It wasn’t very long until Jon appeared through the misty entrance. He bore a mighty look of victory on his face, yet even from where he stood, Tyrion could see the sadness in his eyes. And then he saw her, and he felt his little bitter heart drop cold against the ground.

His Queen was being carried lifelessly by Jon Snow, and the hue of blood running down her lips was the only color in the atmosphere. Behind Jon’s back, colossal black wings were spread, and for the heartbeat of a moment, Tyrion had thought the rightful heir to the Iron Throne had turned into a dragon himself.

The wings weren’t his, though. Drogon had taken flight from the Red Keep to stand above a torn tower. Oh but what an indomitable vision it had been, the proper mirror of the truest King.

* * *

Walking back and forth, tapping his feet against the stone, Tyrion Lannister waited impatiently for the Iron Fleet to arrive by King’s Landing’s docks. The reparations of the city had begun very after the late Queen’s funeral and as soon as they found paper and quill, Tyrion had a raven sent to Dragonstone to fly the news and command their return. Jon Snow had yet given no claim on his title as King and the Unsullied forces had not decided yet what to do now that their Khaleesi.

Everyone was confused about what was to be for the Realm now, but Tyrion could not care any less. The only person between his worries was his wife. Sweet-smelling soft-spoken Sansa. 

At long last, the ships bearing the kraken sigil anchored and the rowing boats were coming like waves to the shore. Once they were near enough the docks, it was not near difficult to spot her bright autumn hairs shining beneath the sunrise light. When they all landed, he lost her to the crowd for a little while, as women and children reunited with their husbands and fathers or weeped at the news of their passing. Then, he saw her, arm inar with Jeyne Poole and the widest of smiles making her eyes small with joy. She was alive, safe and sound, but what had really taken Tyrion’s breath was that radiant smile. A smile that was meant for him and him alone.

Neither of them could keep their feet from running towards the other. Bitterness almost got the best of him wishing he could be tall and strong enough to carry her, spin her around and keep her safe behind strong large arms. But when she bent to match his height, kissing his forehead, scar and mouth, his lady made him feel like the gallant knight of the songs and poems she once loved so much to read.

Sansa Stark was kissing him as she had now so many times before, and his lips trembled with excitement as if it was the first taste of her lips he’d had in this world. She smiled against his mouth and opened those bright blue Tully eyes of hers that were glassy with love and looking down at him in the most lavishing of ways. 

She took his hand, then, and placed it atop her belly. At first touch, Tyrion grew with worry feeling a swollen bump on her skin, he was ready to kill whomever had laid a hand and wounded his wife. But then, realization bathed him like a bucket of frigid water. His mismatched eyes widened making his scar rise along with his eyebrows. His mouth was hanging open underneath his beard and he felt like an utter fool unable to move by his perplexity.

His wife could not hold laughter from her grin, and the sweet song of her voice brought him back to his senses in a series of rapid blinks. Tyrion breathed a smile and held Sansa tenderly by her cheeks. She leaned her forehead against his, both laughing, kissing and letting joyful tears fall. 

* * *

It was hard for his mind to think of anything else than his child on her wife’s belly when Jon Snow called the lords and ladies of Westeros for a meeting. Dorne and the lords of the Reach were present as well as the Riverlands, North, Ironborn and Vale. Gendry Waters, now Baratheon stood for the Stormlands, but with Jaime and Cersei gone and Sansa as lady of Winterfell, there was no one to take over the Westerlands, and the ghost of Tywin Lannister would certainly come from the Seven Hells to haunt him if Tyrion was to give Casterly Rock away to any beggar house.

But just as his doubts were clouding his mind as he made way towards the meeting room besides his wife, a dornish woman crossed their paths holding a fair girl by the hand. She looked almost a woman grown, beautiful in every way except in a gruesome scar that ran from her face up to a missing ear. It was when she noticed Tyrion that he recognized the green eyes and golden hair of his most beloved niece.

“Myrcella,” he called to her, and she smiled widely running to him. Tyrion could sense the long for family in her embrace and ran his hand from her head down to her curls and up again. She had certainly grown tall and beautiful, and looking and her he could not help but purse his lips sadly at the sight of her scar. She was as beautiful as her mother, but had nothing from her nature, she with all certainty did not deserve the same curse he was scarred with.

“Uncle Tyrion,” she said clearly noticing him staring, “it is okay, uncle, it is okay..”

Back in her embrace, Tyrion wished he’d never part from her little darling niece, yet the meeting was to begin and all were called to meet.

Jon Snow sat at the head of a long table, where the rest of the lords and ladies took seats by the sides, Sansa on his very next of course. The last Targaryen rose from his chair, Bran being besides him on his wooden wheelchair.

“For so long,” Jon commenced, “the Seven Kingdoms, although known as one, have been waging war against each other. What is a Kingdom if there is always going to be more than one crown as men find a reason to claim themselves as the rightful Kings and Queens? While it is true we cannot live without the other, we are all too different to bow for the same throne. My brother and I have given thought to this for very long now, and we think we have reached a solution. That is if you are all to agree to it.

“Each kingdom will have the right to choose a King or Queen, and their kin shall rule over all the years that are to come. The Crownlands would remain as the heart of the Realm under Targaryen rule, and with my brother, the Three-Eyed Raven, a weirwood network would be established in King’s Landing and expand throughout the Realm to track and aid each other’s needs. Though independent from one another, our allegiances should prevail.”

Jon took a break from his short speech breathing deeply as if wishing to himself that his plan would go without inconvenience.

“So that means the Iron Islands will never be conquered again? Can I take your word for true?” Asha Greyjoy asked breaking the silence in the room.

“As true as your brother took it.” Jon replied coldly yet with a slight fondness in his tone.

Tyrion saw Asha’s chest grow with pain at the memory of Theon, even so, she nodded with respect. “Then the Ironborn agree.”

One after the other, the lords of Westeros agreed with nods and ayes. And for the first time ever since Aegon the Conqueror landed on this land with his sisters behind his back, the Seven Kingdoms would part on roads of their own.

  
  


* * *

During the entire journey back to Winterfell, Tyrion would not cease to caress his wife’s bump feeling the kicks his child was giving against Sansa’s belly.

“It might be amusing to you, Tyrion,” said she throwing her head back exhaustively against the seat of their carriage, “But this child might as well be trying to rip my skin apart with its kicks, and I am not even fat yet!”

Tyrion had to laugh at his wife’s whines. She had been complaining throughout the complete road and he found it easier to laugh than stress from the strange cravings for meals and lemon cakes in the middle of the night and many of the other adventures that came along with her pregnancy. 

It wasn’t all smiles and joy, though. Tyrion was vastly afraid for the sake of his child and his wife. He didn’t want his child to be born a dwarf in this cruel world, and even worse, he knew what had happened to his lady mother when she brought him to life. He would not survive this life without Sansa by his side. But at every time his worries bested him, his wife was always there to soothe them all away.

“Sansa?” he asked her once when they were reaching the skirts of Winter Town, “I know you are still in your early stages, but might you already know what our child is going to be?”

“I did ask Maester Vyman that same question last time he treated me back at Dragonstone.” she replied smiling with slight mischievousness.

“Well?” he raised his eyebrows as his question remained unanswered. 

“A girl.” She replied with a simple shrug, though a smile playing about her lips. “And I have already thought her name.”

“Oh. And didn’t it mayhaps occur you that the  _ father  _ might have liked a voice in such decision?”

Paying him no mind, Sansa kissed his forehead with all the tenderness that had ever touched the world. Bringing her eyes back to his, she whispered,

“ _ Joanna _ .”


	49. SANSA XI

She woke up with sunlight bathing her pale face and a gentle hand running down her shoulder. She refused to open her eyelids as they were still heavy with sleep and her body felt even heavier with her bump growing by the day. Her husband’s beard was tickling her neck as he ravished with the kisses that welcomed her to every new morning. She had no strength but to only giggle, sleepiness in her voice. She rolled on her back to face him running her hands among the curls of his her and bringing his lips to meet hers.

“Today is the day, Sansa.” Tyrion said before kissing her forehead.

Bringing Winterfell back to its former splendor had been no easy task, but thanks to the help of every northman’s hand; and the cleverest ideas of her husband, the old castle was restored in almost no time. Now, with the seat of the North back in its place and the Stark banners flying above every tower, the people wanted someone to crown.

Almost every of the other kingdoms had already crowned their monarchs and the northern lords were growing desperate to put the old crown of the Kings of Winter for the first time on top of a Queen. Sansa remembered that when she was a child, back when she had seen nothing of the cruelty that laid behind the walls of Winterfell, there was nothing more in the world that she wanted as passionately as to become Queen.

Her preferences, in time, had changed though. Now what she wanted most in this world was to remain in her bed forever with Tyrion’s warmth by her side.

“Five minutes more,” she begged to him attempting to trap him beneath the sheets lying back to sleep on top of his chest. She felt him laugh against her skin.

“Now, now,” he said in tones of jape, “you surely didn’t make your brothers all come here to see you sleep eternally. Come along, dear wife, there is a long day ahead of us.”

Sansa was certainly sure she’d never leave the bed until her husband did. It was no longer pleasant without his warmth and it was true she needed to ready herself before all the lords of the North and other guests arrived to Winterfell’s main hall. Tyrion left her alone with her maids once they entered the room. 

Between two of them, they carried the dress Sansa had been working so proudly for the past weeks for this special occasion. When she looked back to all the years behind her, her memories were all filled with pain, yet they all bore a lesson that altogether had led her to become the woman she now was. Which is why while embroidering her dress she made sure to include it all. The touch of Tully trouts on the back for her Lady Mother, and the furs of Shaggydog falling from one side for her little late brother Rickon. A small pattern of roses behind the shoulders for all she had learned from the Tyrells, and the bright red leaves from the godswood, outlined with all the care in the world for her Lord Father, the most honorable Ward the North had ever had.

_ Father _ , Sansa thought in prayer to the Old as she traced her fingers along the embroidered leaves,  _ please guide me through my reign, teach me how to rule. Let me be as honorable and respected as you and as witty as Mother. Father… I wish you were here. Both of you. And Robb and Rickon too… I miss you… All of you. _

Once in her dress, Sansa gave the leave to her maids and turned to busy herself brushing her long hair before any tear could threat to fall. She had always fancied extravagant hairstyles, but this time she left her hair loose and plain, making space for the crown that would decorate her head until the end of her days. She was not alone for long, though, Arya in her skillful silence was all of a sudden next to her vanity.

“Are you ready?” her sister asked with a grin. Arya was for what might have been the first time in almost a lifetime wearing a dress proper of a lady. She refused any hairstyle though but at least her short hair was shiny and in place.

“Not really, but as any King ever been?” Sansa replied sighing and then turned her gaze to her sister, “But i need to be brave, like Robb.”

Arya smiled with sadness, “We are Starks, we can be brave.” They both stood there in silence for a brief moment before Arya spoke again breathing a soft laugh. “Do you remember that day, back in King’s Landing when you were in the most annoying of ways telling me how once you became Queen I’d be forced to call you ‘Your Grace’?”

“And bathed me and my brand new dress in orange, ‘You have juice in your face, Your Grace’?” Sansa replied imitating Arya’s tone from all the years back then. Both sisters laughed in unison at the memory, until Arya’s laughter turned severe.

“I never thought you’d ever make a good Queen,” her sister said taking both her hands into hers, “I could never be more wrong now, Sansa. And believe me when I tell you that our kingdom is now under the best hands. You shall make the North prosper as it never has before.”

Sansa squeezed Arya’s hands and gulped her tears at the kindest words her little sister had ever told her. Their emotional moment was interrupted by Tyrion’s footsteps arriving to her door. 

“Your Grace,” he addressed her with a bow in the head that felt so strange to Sansa.  _ That is who you are now, little bird,  _ she told herself,  _ you better get used to it. _ “They are ready and waiting for you, we begin at your command.” He then turned towards Arya in a mocking way. “Princess Arya, join me to wait your sister inside the hall, shall we?”

Arya rolled her eyes, “oh gods, as if the title of ‘Lady’ wasn’t enough to drive me to insanity.” She gathered her skirts regardless, and parted with Tyrion leaving Sansa with no one but herself.

Touching the outside of her dress pocket, she made sure it was still there, and smiled to herself recalling words from a time not too long ago.

_ Your Imp will make a better husband, he is a bigger man than he seems, I think. _

From a crack on the wooden doors that led to the Main Hall, Sansa could sneak a view of the people inside. The room was filled with all the northmen that would judge how good of Queen she was. Her legs began to tremble and her arms shaked with cold. _This is not the time to falter,_ _on I go._

The doors opened in loud creaks, and everyone inside the Hall moved aside making a royal path for her. Soft and slowly, she made her way towards the end where the throne of Winterfell awaited, a wooden carved direwolf standing tall on each side. Every Lord and Lady present bowed their heads as she passed by them, her dress dancing its length along the cold stone floor. Next on the left side of the throne waited Jon, Arya, Bran, Ser Brienne of Tarth and her little Lord Tyrion. To the right, the Grand Maester of the castle waited with the Crown of Winter shining brightly on his hands.

It was an open circlet of hammered bronze incised with runes of the First Men. Nine black iron spikes rose in the shape of longswords, all united by the head of a direwolf placed in the middle of it all. The Crown that had not been used for over three thousand years since Aegon the Conqueror acquired the North, was now back in the game, and its weight was forever to be set upon Sansa’s head. 

She moved as in a dream front of the throne, hear head high in pride as every eye was set upon her. Not moving, not breathing, she was a goddess to be upon men. 

“All hail Sansa of House Stark,” The Maester said holding the crown above her head, “First of her name, Queen and protector of the North, Lady of Winterfell, and Queen of the new Winter. Long may she reign!”

“ _ Long may she reign!” _

And when the crown touched the top of her hair, every man in the hall drew his sword high in the air.

Surrounded by her family and carrying a child in her very womb, and a crown upon her head, Sansa could not recall a time when she felt happier than the now. 

Before taking a seat on the throne, Sansa turned towards Tyrion and knelt to his height. His mismatched eyes stared back at her in confusion as well as all the people in the room. From her pocket, she took the Silver Pin of the Queen’s Hand into the light and placed it on the left side of his chest. She smiled at him while Tyrion processed it all in shock and joy. The crowd cheered, never ceasing even when Sansa sat on the Throne of the North.

That night, as she cuddled against her husband, the chants of the Northmen remained with her even in her dreams…

_ “The Queen in the North!” _

  
  



	50. EPILOGUE

The Winds of Spring danced through all the Kingdoms of Westeros alike. In every corner of the Realm, new Kings and Queens were prospering hope and goals for the new era in history, where winter was set behind in the past and even farer away from the future. Grass grew green and healthy upon fields where blood was no longer drawn by the sake of men’s wars, trouts returned to dance on the rivers and the skies welcomed the falcons again, and one lonesome dragon. 

In the South, Dorne was kept under Martell rule with the Sand Snakes now legitimized. The Reach and Highgarden passed down to the Tarlys, and though his missing hard made his life difficult, Samwell had Gilly and little Sam by his side until the very end of his days. The Stormlands were restored under Baratheon reign with King Gendry on command and his half brother Edric as his Hand. Up in the Westerlands, Myrcella Lannister became the first Queen of the Rock and little Robert Arryn had grown into a fine King for the Vale with the help of Lord Harry and his lady Myranda. The Riverlands had crowned Edmure Tully, though the lands now bore dark banners out of respect for the Blackfish who had passed. The Iron Islands had never been so strong as now with Queen Asha on the Salt Throne.

Jon refused to ever take the name of Aegon and became the first Targaryen with his name. Drogon and Ghost remained faithfully by his side as well as his brother Bran, who day by day kept losing a piece of the boy he once was to the Three-Eyed Raven. Jon’s coronation had been the biggest of sensations, as the Rhaegar Targaryen’s lost rubies from the Trident were returned by a young man with the name of Bennard Rivers and his cousins Lymond and Daena. With them, the old crown of the Targaryen Kings was restored, and now lied upon Jon’s long black hair and beard. 

In the Red Keep with King Jon was Ser Brienne too, the new Lady Commander of the Kingsguard, who made sure her first deed in her new role was to complete the pages of Jaime Lannister’s service on the White Book. Ser Podrick Payne remained by her side always, now a valiant and gallant knight. He bore his white cloak proudly, but everyone in King’s Landing knew he was weak in keeping his vow of celibacy. 

Arya Stark continued to travel Kingdom by Kingdom with Nymeria by her side, making adventures and never settling anywhere for long. But if the whispers were to be true, it was Storm’s End where she spent her time the most. It was also said she had multiple times threatened to gut anyone to call her by the title of Princess.

Far in the North Beyond the Wall, the Free Folk returned to their cold homes and Castle Black held a purpose no more. Though he did not ever like to call himself a King, Tormund Giantsbane was whom every wilding looked up to.

  
  


And inside the walls of Winterfell, there was not a single day when Jeyne Poole did not visit the Godswood laying flowers where Theon Greyjoy had valiantly once fought. The castle had grown into a lovelier place each passing day, as Queen Sansa did all within her might to keep the North safe from any threat and welcoming to any joy. 

The weight of her crown grew heavier at each passing of a year, yet her burden was always relieved by the warmth of her children and the love of her husband, who were always quick to support her.

As of now, Lord Tyrion and Queen Sansa were standing on the balconies over the courtyard of Winterfell, looking over to her children as Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard Stark had a long time ago been. The three of them bore Sansa’s house name, but were ‘as different as the sun and the moon’. Joanna, the eldest, was a lady as soon as she was born, and every bit a Lannister as little Eddard was a Stark. Lyarra, the third, was known to be the very mirror of her mother, though only in the looks. She had Sansa’s same auburn hair and a passion for lemon cakes and stealing them from the castle’s kitchens. But she had the utter spirit of her Aunt Arya, being a warrior in heart. Yet unlike Arya, she was allowed to spar and train with the sword like any other of the boys at Winterfell. She, as her father, had mismatched eyes, yet hers were colored green and Tully blue. If anything, it only made her more beautiful. Even though Joanna prefered the art of the needle, none of Sansa and Tyrion’s children was as skilled on horseback as her, and Eddard was making his own swordsman skills promising the future of a great King.

“If one would have told me less than five years ago,” Tyrion said to his Queen wife, “I would have never dared myself to believe I’d now have my hands full with  _ three  _ children”

Brushing a hand along his curls, Queen Sansa knelt by her husband’s side smiling with her lips tucked between her teeth. 

“And there is one more to come.” she whispered pressing a hand to her stomach.

Tyrion widened his eyes as he had the three times before, and Sansa only could smile as she too had.

“A boy, the Maester said.” she added.

Tyrion tendered his expression, then, and lowered his head to talk with his still growing son.

“Welcome to the family, little Robb.”

Sansa’s eyes teared into glass in the spur of a blink.

And Tyrion Lannister thought throughout the entirety of his life what a lucky dwarf he was to have and have been conquered by Sansa Stark’s heart.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, we have come to an end.  
> All my gratitude to the people who have read this slightly big story, and even more for waiting this long.  
> I sincerely love all your support, so please do leave comments with your reviews!


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